Welcome Holmes
by LizzeXX
Summary: Sherlock/OC – Sherlock has returned to London after 2 years and everything is different. John has left 221B and moved on. But Leena, his oldest friend and fiance, is still there keeping an eye on things. With strained relationships all around, what will Sherlock and Leena do when the threat of Magnussen arises? Will they get their own wedding? Third in the Jackie Holmes Chronicles.
1. Many Happy Returns

A/N: Welcome everyone! Woo! Sherlock and Leena are back! For new readers, this is an OC/Sherlock story, Welcome Holmes, a little play on Welcome Home, and it is the third story in my series, The Jackie Holmes Chronicles (I would recommend Holmes, Sweet Holmes and Holmes is Where the Heart is be read first). For anyone interested, I also have OC series up for Supernatural, DW, Merlin, Star Trek, and Thor. My OC, Jacqueline 'Leena' Jerrard, called Jackie by everyone who isn't Sherlock, is a very old, very close friend of Sherlock Holmes, so close that she has her own nicknames for him, Sherwood, when around others, and Locksley, in private, based on her favorite story as a child, Robin Hood. In fact, she's so close that she is actually Sherlock's fiance ;) Too bad fake-suicides put a damper on wedding plans :(

A short description, Leena is of average height, with light blonde hair just down to her chest that hangs straight with a little wave to it, with gray eyes. She's usually rather pale and tends to wear comfortable and simple clothes. To help the visualization more, I picture her to look something like the actress Brianna Brown. This will also be a_ minor_ crossover with Criminal Minds as Leena was once a member of the BAU in America for about four years so slight references might be made to that show ;)

I am going to try to keep as true and in character to Sherlock as I can, though I give one caveat, you are a different person around your friends than around your family or co-workers or others. Leena is closer to him than anyone, they started a relationship in my first story, got engaged in the second, but I make no promises for what may come in this story ;) This series follows a very long and very established relationship/friendship between Sherlock and Leena long before the show begins that we only learn more of as time goes on.

This story will be updated daily, with the episodes broken up into two chapters. Though this is more a surprise first chapter as the first episode part will be up tomorrow ;)

~8~ is a scene break

'...' is a form of communication between Sherlock and Leena where he deduces her expressions and she profiles his, silently communicating without speaking.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, not Sherlock Holmes or the BBC's show...or Redbeard would be alive :(

Enjoy!

~8~

Many Happy Returns

Anderson had lost his bloody mind.

Or at least that was the thought of one Greg Lestrade as he sat beside the man in a pub, the man himself having really let himself go in terms of taking care of himself. He was wearing a cream-colored knitted jumper that, oddly enough, reminded him very much of the sort that John Watson would wear, and with his hair grown out along with a beard, looking all together very unkempt. He was listening to the man drone on and on about ridiculous theories all involving Sherlock Holmes. The man was convinced, absolutely _convinced_ that Sherlock was alive despite the evidence against that. He'd just finished telling him about a news report he'd found for the Himalayas, how an abbot had discovered a blonde woman among the ranks of the Buddhist monks.

"A breakaway sect of Buddhist warrior monks infiltrated by a blonde drug smuggler?!" Lestrade scoffed, the disbelief evident not just in his words but in his gaze as well, staring at Anderson with a look that clearly indicated he thought the man was barmy, "That never really happened!"

"A-A blonde drug smuggler who was exposed by an abbot with unusual powers of observation and deduction!" Anderson argued, as though that was all that had to be said to make the 'abbot' Sherlock.

"A _blonde woman_ hiding amongst _bald monks_? That wouldn't exactly take Sherlock Holmes!"

"Well, perhaps it did!"

"He's _dead_," Lestrade said firmly, ignoring the look Anderson was giving him, ignoring the flinch the man gave as well, "I'm sorry. I wish he wasn't, we…we all wish he wasn't," he added quietly, both men all too aware that that last part was in honor of Leena. She had only been with Scotland Yard a short while, but SHE had been officially working for them, unlike Sherlock, and to see her just…falling apart little by little after Sherlock's death…well, she was one of them, they all felt even worse that they hadn't done more to stop the ridiculous allegations that Sherlock was a fraud, "But he really is dead and gone."

"Well, how d'you explain this?" Anderson looked away to pull out a world map, different little red cross marks scattered all over it, but he pointed at one of New Delhi, "Sighting number two: Incident at New Delhi…"

"You haven't been titling these?" Lestrade hoped, that was…a bit like John as well, the names he gave the different cases he used to blog about.

Anderson ignored him and explained the 'incident,' "A killer at large, and he was discovered by Inspector Prakesh who, listen to this," he grinned, "'Worked out the depth to which the chocolate Flake had sunk into the victim's ice cream cone!'" he looked at Lestrade, "Do you see!?"

"Clever man, Inspector Prakesh," Lestrade remarked.

"Oh, for…what police inspector could have made _that_ deduction?!"

"Oh, thank you," Lestrade rolled his eyes, offended that Anderson didn't think HE could have caught the killer either.

"You remember how Sherlock never took the credit when he solved all of _your_ cases?"

"He didn't solve_ all_ of my cases!"

"He's out there," Anderson murmured, staring ahead of him, at the wall across from them though Lestrade knew he wasn't really seeing it, he was just lost in thought, "He's hiding. But he can't stop himself from getting involved," he laughed, "It's so obviously him, if you know how to spot the signs!"

Lestrade eyed him a moment, it was creepy, he was even starting to SOUND like Sherlock now, which was odd enough when Leena had done that during her trial run for the Yard, to hear Anderson, of all people, sounding that way too was unnerving. He shook his head, getting back to his point, "The Klein Brothers, the Tower House thing, the Kensington Ripper…I solved all those myself!"

"Well, you got Tower House wrong."

"No I didn't!"

"Yep, you did," he turned the map to another red x, "Ok, sighting number three..." he tapped Hamburg, Germany "The Mysterious Juror…"

Lestrade let his head fall onto the table, shaking it against the wood as Anderson continued.

"A man, Herr Trepoff, on trial for the murder of his wife. ALL Jurors, except _one_ thought him not guilty, and then the last managed to convince them ALL that he WAS guilty after all! It _had_ to be him! There's no one else it can be!"

Lestrade sighed and looked at him, "Have you ever read '12 Angry Men?'"

Anderson blinked, "What?"

"Jackie suggested it," Lestrade swallowed hard, thinking on the girl. She…didn't seem to be doing well. She had quit the Yard, which he'd tried to talk her out of, she…she should be distracted, have something to occupy her thoughts instead of sitting in 221B Baker Street all day, but...things had gotten in the way and it had all been too much for her, "It's the same thing, all of the jury thought the man on trial was guilty though and one, plain, ordinary man thought he was innocent and convinced them all the same. It doesn't _have_ to be Sherlock."

"But…it IS though," Anderson insisted, "Do you not see?!"

Lestrade sighed, Anderson really wasn't going to give this up, was he? "I see that you lost a good job because of the hand you played in…what happened, and now you're fantasizing about a dead man coming back to life, and I know why you want that to happen…but it's never gonna," he paused in thought a moment, "You…you haven't gone to see Jackie again, have you?" he eyed the man, a tone of seriousness in his voice.

Anderson looked away.

"We've been over this," his tone became harsher, as did his expression, "You STAY AWAY from her Anderson," he pointed at the man, poking him in the shoulder, "You're lucky I didn't file a restraining order against you on her behalf. You have to STOP it," he shook his head, "Visiting her at all hours of the day, telling her ridiculous theories about how Sherlock had to have survived, and this…" he pointed at the maps, "Trying to find him in different countries. You need to _stop_, it's…it's not good for her."

Anderson nodded slowly, he knew it was wrong of him, to visit the one person who hated him most at the moment and try to give her hope, knowing that…that there was a chance he was wrong and if he was it would just crush her all the more but…he NEEDED to make up for it, he needed to make amends with her, and this…this was all he could think to do.

Find some way for her 'husband,' as she had called him even though they weren't married yet, to still be alive.

"Ok," Lestrade sighed, finishing the last of his pint, "I'm gonna go and see an old friend," he picked up his coat as he stood, looking over at Anderson, "You take care, ok?" he picked up a box from the stool beside him and eyed the man.

"Just look at the map, though!" Anderson insisted, tracing a small path from New Delhi to Hamburg and then to Brussels, "He's getting closer," he looked at Lestrade imploring him to believe him, "It's like he's coming back."

Lestrade just sighed sadly and shook his head, leaving the pub.

~8~

"It's good to see you, Greg," John Watson greeted as he let Lestrade into his home, he'd moved out of 221B and, well, into another home.

"And you," he reached out to shake John's hand.

"Have a seat," he gestured to the chairs in the room and Lestrade took one on an armchair while John sat on the sofa.

"So, how've you been?"

"Er, yeah, good. Yeah. Much better."

Both men fell silent, thinking of someone else who…didn't appear to be getting better at all, or moving on, or letting go, or anything that she needed to do to heal from her loss.

John cleared his throat, "Er, so what's in the, er…" he pointed at a white box Lestrade had brought over to him.

"Oh, that, yeah. That's, er, that's some stuff from my office, some stuff of Sherlock's, actually. I know I probably should have given it to Jackie but, um, well…" he trailed off again.

John nodded, "That's good," he agreed, Leena already lived in 221B still, she had to see reminders of Sherlock every day, Mrs. Hudson had informed Lestrade that Leena refused to throw away anything of Sherlock's, to give her that, something new, something else…it wouldn't be helpful to her.

Lestrade nodded and reached out for the box, "Yeah, there's something here. Um, wasn't sure whether I should have kept it in," he took the lid off, pulling out some odds and ends, the pink phone, some nicotine patches, a bit of paper with writing on it, a toy train engine, a yellow mask of a face, all to get to the CD in a case at the bottom. He pulled out the CD and held it up, "You remember the video message he made for your birthday?" John nodded, "Oh, you should have seen Jackie 'persuading' him to make it," John laughed a bit at that, he could only imagine, Leena had…rather varying methods when it came to Sherlock and getting him to do things, "Finally had to resort to saying 'please,'" he chuckled himself sadly in memory, before holding the DVD up, "This is the uncut version. It's quite funny."

"Oh, right," John took it from him and just…looked at it, maybe…maybe it would have been best to give it to Leena then. Because he was the sort where he healed best when away from what haunted him, Leena…she was the sort who needed to be surrounded in it till she was able to accept it was gone and move on. She _did_ have ample DVDs and memories of Sherlock, but…he doubted she had something so recent. He knew the only things she did have were the videos proving Moriarty's true existence and he didn't want her to watch that over and over again.

It couldn't be healthy.

"Maybe I shouldn't have brought it…" Lestrade began, seeing him staring at the DVD.

"Don't worry," John offered him a smile, "It's ok. Probably won't even watch it," he turned and placed it on the arm of the sofa, just…glancing at it once more as Lestrade left.

~8~

Lestrade stepped out of John's home, tugging his coat around him more and looking down at his phone to check for messages or alerts from the Yard…when something caught his eye. An old man, with a white beard, was standing there, just…reading the paper. Nothing out of the ordinary…except…the headline drew his gaze.

'THE GAME IS BACK ON!'

He frowned at it a moment, recalling Sherlock's favored 'catchphrase' before he shook his head and walked off.

~8~

John poured himself a bit of whisky as he sat on the sofa, taking a breath and putting the DVD on, and then 221B Baker Street was on the screen, the sofa before him, the yellow smiley face spray painted on the wall behind it, and then there was Sherlock.

"Was that supposed to happen?" Sherlock frowned, looking at the camera intently, "The light going down?"

"It's fine Locksley," he heard Leena laugh, and his heart nearly broke more from that than seeing Sherlock again, _nearly_. He hadn't heard Leena laugh in...so long, too long really. He'd rarely ever seen her smile since that day it all happened.

"Yeah, ok," Sherlock nodded, starting to pace before the sofa "Oh, er, hmm. So, what do I…what do I…what d'you want me to do at the end?"

"Locksley calm down," Leena assured him, "It's just John, he knows how you are. Do whatever you feel is you."

"Shall I, um…smile and wink? I do that sometimes. I've no idea why. People _seem_ to like it, humanizes me."

"Well that depends," he could almost hear the smirk in Leena's voice, "Are you going to be winking at John…or at me?"

Sherlock smiled and gave a small chuckle, seeming to calm down a bit more at her small joke, "_Why_ am I doing this, again?" he had to ask though.

"You didn't want to go to the dinner for his birthday, remember?"

"Well of _course_ I don't, there'll be _people_."

"You could go and have a ball deducing them," Leena suggested, "I do love it when you do that."

Sherlock smiled and he could see that the man was actually tempted by the thought, before he shook his head, "How can John be having a birthday dinner? All his friends hate him. You only have to look at their faces. I wrote an essay on suppressed hatred in close proximity based entirely on his friends."

"I know," Leena laughed, "I was the one who proofread it for you. And even_ if_ his friends do hate him," John shook his head with a small smile on his face, knowing that Sherlock could interpret hatred in anything, but if Leena did then well, it was hatred, but since she'd said IF he knew that she didn't fully believe that, "Shouldn't that mean it would be best to have friends there that DON'T?"

"Like who?" Sherlock scoffed…until he looked above the camera and John knew Leena was giving him a look, "Oh."

He laughed at that.

"On reflection then," Sherlock admitted, "It probably wasn't a very good choice of gift."

"Which is why I swapped it out," Leena informed him, making Sherlock look up at her, "I put BOTH our names on my gift. I'll tell you if he likes it."

"Given that you are a profiler, I would wager that he will be exceptionally thrilled with it," Sherlock reasoned.

John nodded to himself, had been thrilled with it. It was encryption software to protect his computer so that even the great Sherlock Holmes would need more than a few minutes (more like a few hours) to hack into it. He had LOVED it.

Sherlock took a breath, seemingly ready to begin, before he floundered, "_What_ was my excuse again?"

"You said you had a thing," Leena remarked, "Hardly explanative, Locksley."

"Ah, right, yes! That's right. A thing."

"Care to add a bit more specification?"

"No, no, no. Only lies have detail."

"That IS true," he could hear a thoughtful quality in Leena's words, "The truth is singular, lies are just…words."

John shook his head, watching as Sherlock stared at the camera, though he got the feeling, judging by the man's soft smile, he was actually looking at Leena, "Right, I just…I need a moment to, um, figure out what I'm going to do."

"_I_ can tell you what you can do," John murmured as Sherlock paced, "You can stop being dead," he took a sip of his whiskey.

"Ok," Sherlock called, looking right at the camera, making John look at the screen, startled, "Ok, I'm ready now," and moved to sit in an armchair, staring at the camera, waiting.

"Ready when you are Locksley," Leena laughed, "This is just like when we were children."

John winced at that though, recalling the videos that Leena had shown them all as proof of Sherlock's abilities, she had filmed one of them

Sherlock nodded and took a breath, "Hello, John," he smiled, "I'm sorry I'm not there at the moment. I'm very busy. However, many happy returns. Oh, and don't worry. I'm going to be with you again _very_ soon."

Just as Sherlock moved to continue to speak, there was a ring of the doorbell and John quickly paused the feed, getting up to go see who it was.

~8~

"He's coming back!" Anderson shouted the moment the door to 221B Baker Street opened a crack, though only really opening as far as it could as there as a metal chain lock across it now.

"Please leave," was all Leena said as she peered through the slightly open door at the flustered man.

"But he IS!" Anderson grinned, "I've…I've…I've got proof this time," he began to shuffle through his papers and maps, "See, I've been tracking him and…" only to lose hold of them and send them falling to the floor, kneeling down to pick them up, "I've followed his movements and…"

"Philip," she cut in, her voice quiet, tired, and just…heartbroken, "Please…_stop_," she whispered the last word.

Anderson looked up to see tears in her gray eyes as she looked down at him, before he swallowed and stood, "But…he really _is_ Jackie," he tried to speak more calmly, "Look, just…look," he held up the map to his side, shifting to point at it as he held it before her, "New Delhi, Hamburg, Brussels, and…"

"Don't," Leena murmured, "Just…" she closed her eyes, before looking at him, "Sherlock is dead," she blinked a few times, her lips pursing as she tried to keep the tears from falling, but failed as one trailed down her cheek, "Just stop…and leave me alone. Please. I can't…" she shook her head, "I just _can't_."

Anderson swallowed again, feeling tears in his own eyes before he nodded, "I'm sorry," he told her, "I…truly am SO sorry," that was all he could offer her before he turned and walked away, Leena watching him go till he disappeared from sight.

She slowly closed the door, her head bowed…

Before she took a deep breath, shaking herself out a bit, and turned around, wiping from beneath her eyes with her sleeve as she sniffled in, and breathed out…completely calm, completely collected, completely…faking the entire tearful moment. She let out a soft laugh before she walked to the middle of the room, turning to face the wall behind the sofa and smiled, crossing her arms.

She looked at everything she had hanging on the wall, a map of the world, news clippings pinned around it, little tacks on the map with bits of string connecting them to their individual news clippings. She reached up and traced and invisible path ALL over the world, beyond just New Delhi or Hamburg or Brussels, tracing all the places she was certain Sherlock had gone.

Oh she was well aware he was alive, she'd been tracking him the moment she could, scouring the newspapers and international news. It was made easier with the program Penny had given her, her own little hacking app to trace and track the vaguest mentions of Sherlock all over the globe with cetain key words and things.

She knew he was alive.

And she knew he was coming back.

Anderson though…he deserved a bit of pain for all the hurt he and Donovan had caused her, and well…Sherlock clearly wanted them all to think he really was dead. She could guess why, and she'd done all she could to perpetuate the airs of a 'grieving widow' for the world to see. But really…she was just waiting, as patiently as she could, for him to return.

But it was enough for now, to know he was alive.

"Any day now Locksley," she murmured, smiling at the map, she'd had enough of fond farewells.

~8~

In John Watson's sitting room, the video unpaused, Sherlock smiling widely at the camera, before he winked.

A/N: Surprise! :) I hope you enjoyed this little early start to Sherlock and Leena :) I was debating whether to post JUST this chapter tomorrow, but I felt like that wouldn't be fair to do something so little, so we get it a day early :) I put a few things out of order for this scene, mostly with Lestrade and the newspaper but everything else I hope flowed well :)

I really can't wait for tomorrow to get back in the swing of TJHC ^-^

But to comment on HIWTHI, I'm glad you all enjoyed it and Leena :) It really means so much to me to know you liked the stories and the series so far, and I'm very excited to see where Leena helps lead the story this time ;)

Also, since a few asked, I AM planning to do a Criminal Minds (Spencer/OC) story in the future, 2015 though :( But I do have a cover and a sneak peek introducing the OC on my 'Upcoming Stories' page of my tumblr (link on profile) ;)

Some notes on reviews (from the end of HIWTHI)...

I can say that I DO have a Spencer/OC Criminal Minds story planned, it won't be this year, unfortunately, but it'll be up next year :) If you'd like, on my 'Upcoming Stories' page of my tumblr (link on profile) I have a tentative cover up for it AND a sneak peek that introduces the OC ;)

Technically under the old posting for 'characters' it's not a 'pairing' category, it's the characters involved, so to put John and Sherlock there when they didn't offer an OC category wasn't labeling it as JohnLock (as I clearly say it's a Sherlock/OC in the summary) but merely that they were two characters involved. It never said it's a pairing at that point, it lists them as 'characters' so there's no need to get annoyed about Sherlock only fics having John listed as a supporting character ;) But luckily the site fixed it and I can make the pairing Sherlock/OC officially :)

I will be doing a Criminal Minds, Spencer/OC story, but not till 2015 because I have Merlin/OUAT/BBT/Star Trek/Star Wars/Thor/LotR series coming out this year :)

I can say that I plan to do a spinoff when the series is officially over of Adventures throughout Sherlock and Leena's life. From when they were children to adults, which will also detail some adventures Sherlock had without Leena and some cases Leena handled at the BAU without Sherlock ;) I won't be posting notices in the actual past stories about the new stories being up as, to do that, it would mean posting a note instead of a chapter which is against the rules of the site. I did it once for DW and they suspended my account for 24 hours, I'd rather that not happen again. At most I will put up a guess as to when the next story will be up and also put it on my FF profile too :)

I've heard it's been contracted for Series 4 so we don't have to worry about that ;) But I can say that after the show is officially over, I do have plans for a spinoff/sequel that will look more at Sherlock and Leena's overall life, from childhood to old age and all between of their time together and apart :)

That's cool, I definitely understand the confusion for the Irene chapters :) It's more that Sherlock can only deduce her and read her expressions when he's actively trying. Like what Leena said to Lestrade when Sherlock didn't notice them sitting right there during the Blind Banker, he has to really be looking to see it :) The half a year thing was really that it wasn't happening every single day for half a year, but maybe a minute when Irene would text, or when Irene was actually there/brought up. Overall, it wasn't enough time consecutively for Sherlock to see something wrong :) The tactless 5-year-old wasn't so much about Irene in his bed as that he doesn't see Irene as a woman, like Leena does. He's not confused why it's wrong for Irene to be in his bed so much as the only person it would mean anything to him to have in his bed is Leena. It's like there's only 2 women in his life, Leena and everyone else, he just discounts Irene so he's not sure why everyone's getting worked up. He sees her as someone, Leena (and the world) sees her as a woman. I was debating having more time of Sherlock seeing what he's done wrong, but he's always been able to make deductions in seconds, so it wasn't a far cry, in my head, that with someone even starting to tell him, he'd work it out instantly :) It won't happen again though because not that he realizes that the way he sees other women and the way others see him interacting with them is different, he'll be more careful. He's never had women interested in him except Leena so he's never had much experience with them interacting with him to begin with :)

I'm planning a small spinoff after the show is officially over that would have some chapters of Leena's adventures with the BAU :) And even some of Sherlock's time pre-John while she's in America too :)

Oh I can say little Liberty might pop up again ;)

I can say that I do have sort of both in mind for a Criminal Minds story (Spencer/OC) and also a spinoff of this story that would show an adventure or two of Leena's with the BAU yup ;)

The DW reference was Leena kissing Sherlock against the fireplace to the point of speechlessness like in Girl in the Fireplace ;) I wish they didn't take so long between seasons too, but at least they're like little movies :)

I was SO excited for the new series ^-^

I sort of think there's a fine line between doing their jobs and knowing right from wrong. Your job could be a cop, you should protect people, that doesn't mean you need to go out there as a vigilante and shoot people who aren't attacking anyone, right and wrong, ethics, so many lines lol :) But as for Sherlock being a fake, the episode confirmed Richard was real and Sherlock was not a fraud :)

I've considered a Criminal Minds story up, and it is Spencer/OC, it'll be up in 2015 ;)

That made perfect sense to me :) I'm glad you enjoyed the story and that it was able to help your troubles :) I can't wait to get to the rest of it too :)

Well since the episode proved Richard was the criminal, Leena wasn't exactly lying and that Sherlock was innocent ;)

I'll always try to post the Sherlock stories within a week after the last episode airs (mostly because I have to write out my own transcripts for it) :)


	2. The Empty Hearse - Cold Reception

The Empty Hearse: Cold Reception

_"Sherlock!" John shouted as Sherlock looked down at him from the roof of St. Bart's._

_"It's a trick," he told the man over the phone, though his gaze was fixed on the blonde woman standing beside John, "Just a magic trick."_

_"No," he could see John shaking his head, "Alright, stop it now," before he turned to Leena, "I'm going to get him, you watch him."_

_"John!" he called, but John had already made his way to the road, making his way carefully through the cars towards the hospital, "Leena…" he began._

_"Why are you lying Sherlock?" she asked, using his full name in light of the situation, the terrible, horrible situation taking place right in front of her, "It won't work. Not on me. On anyone else, but NOT on me. I KNOW you."_

_"I know," he let out a tearful laugh, smiling down at her though she couldn't see from so far away._

_"Don't do this Sherlock," she pleaded, he could hear the tears in her voice._

_"I'm sorry," he breathed, before he lowered his arm, dropping the phone and spread his arms, falling forward off the building._

_"SHERLOCK!" Leena screamed, running across the road, ignoring the cars that screeched to a halt to avoid hitting her._

_John, who had just reached the doors of the hospital, spun around at her shout, running back towards her, only to look around the corner of the entrance to see Sherlock on the ground._

_"Oh God…" John breathed, running for him as a crowd gathered around him…_

_Only for a man to get in his way, grabbing him._

_"No, let go!" John struggled, seeing another man grabbing Leena as well as she ran for Sherlock's body, pulling her off, past it and towards the hospital, whispering to her._

_"John," the man, Derren Brown tried to calm him, "John, look at me. Look at me. And…" he pressed his hand to John's forehead, "Sleep," knocking the man out, John blearily falling to the ground, Derren supporting him as he vaguely saw Leena enter the hospital before the world went dark, "Right the way down, right the way deep, right the way, sound asleep. That's real. That's good, with my voice just there in the center of your head and floating all the way around you. Don't worry about the girl, she's fine," he reached out and changed John's watch back a few minutes, glancing over at what was happening and waiting for his cue…_

_Sherlock was bouncing up into the air, attached to a bungee cord, before he turned and broke into the window of the hospital, unhooking his cord. He waved the glass off his coat, brushed the bits of it out of his hair, before striding past Molly as she waited in the room incase he needed medical attention for breaking the glass or needed help getting the hook off him. He shot her a wink, making it to the halls just as the doors at the end of it opened._

_Sherlock grinned as he saw Leena running to him, grabbing her up into his arms as she locked her legs around him, kissing him deeply as he held her. He stumbled into the wall, both of them gasping as her back hit it, before continuing their kiss, only for a beep to go off on his wrist. He pulled away, looking down at it, the alarm on his watch signifying he had to go, NOW, and offered her one more kiss before grabbing her hand and pulling her off, forcing himself to let her go as they reached the doors to the hospital._

_"Go," he called to her, letting her hand free to run back outside as he turned and made his escape…_

_Derren nodded as he saw Leena running out of the hospital, nodding to him to wake John up as she rushed to 'Sherlock's' side, "And you will awaken in three, two, one...zero."_

_John opened his eyes as the man ran off, looking up from the ground to see Leena had reached Sherlock and pushed himself up, running for her, "Let me come through please! He's my friend!"_

"Bollocks!" Lestrade scoffed as he stood before a small cart, getting a coffee before work, Anderson, the poor man seeming nearly deranged as he stood beside him, rambling off yet another ridiculous theory on how Sherlock survived.

"No, no, no, no, it's obvious," Anderson smiled, "_That's_ how he did it. It's _obvious_!"

"Derren Brown?!" Lestrade gave him a look, "Jackie IN the hospital?" he sighed and shook his head, "Let it _go_, Sherlock's dead!"

"But_ is_ he?" Anderson continued to grin, his straggly beard making him look even more crazed, he'd truly let himself go since Sherlock's death two years ago, his entire life had been consumed with conspiracy theories on how the man had to have survived, fueled by the belief that he couldn't be dead, Sherlock Holmes just…he _couldn't_ be dead.

"There was a _body_," Lestrade rolled his eyes, "It was him. It was definitely him, Molly Hooper laid him out. Jackie spoke at his fune…"

"No," Anderson cut in, though Lestrade caught the faint wince at the mention of Leena, well, everyone called her Jackie now, no one slipped up and called her Leena anymore, it was their way of honoring Sherlock, the man who had 'claimed perpetual dibs' on calling her Leena since they'd been children, "She's lying. It was Jim Moriarty's body with a mask on!"

Lestrade gave him an exasperated look now, "A mask? A bungee rope, a mask, Derren Brown?" he sighed, "Two years and the theories keep getting more stupid. How many more have you got for me today?"

"Well, you know the paving slabs in that whole area? Even the exact ones that he landed on, you know they were all..."

"Guilt!" Lestrade cut in, "That's all this is. You pushed us all into thinking that Sherlock was a fraud, you and Donovan," he gave Anderson a close look, intently eyeing him, seeing bags under the man's red eyes, seeing how thin he'd gotten, "How many times have you watched that video?" he asked him quietly.

Anderson looked down, not even needing to know what video Lestrade was speaking of. It had gone viral, _everyone_ saw it till someone had managed to hack into the website that first put it up and delete it. It was of Leena, her breakdown at the scene of Sherlock's suicide. Apparently the world couldn't get enough of watching a young woman witness the death of her fiancé, it was _disgusting_. Yet HE kept watching it, over and over, every time he felt like giving up, every time he felt like others were right and Sherlock was dead…he'd see that video again, he'd see how devastated Leena was, he'd remember the brutal laying out of the truth she'd given him, Anderson, and Kitty Riley just after it happened. He had to do this, for her, he HAD to prove Sherlock was alive, because…she was right, her husband was dead because of what HE had done. Well, not her husband, they hadn't actually gotten married, but he was as good as.

And THAT was what truly killed him. Sherlock had had a _life_, he'd had a proper life. He'd had a future, with Leena, and HE and his petty jealousy and anger, had taken that away from him, from both of them. He honestly hadn't realized how much of a life Sherlock had actually had, how…human…he was till he'd seen Leena's reaction to it, till he'd realized that Sherlock was actually going to marry that girl. John had told them, at the funeral that Lestrade had made them attend, having wanted him and Donovan to see their handiwork, that Sherlock and Leena had just set a date, had gone wedding cake tasting and…Leena was about to pick out her wedding dress…when it had happened. They'd truly been about to wed, Sherlock had been serious, he'd actually _loved_ Leena and…and now none of that could happen. Not only had he ruined the reputation of a good man, a man who had helped them solve countless murders and mysteries and put away hundreds of criminals, but he'd driven that man to take his own life, he'd ruined the life and future and broken the heart of another person as well. He hadn't just destroyed Sherlock's life…he'd destroyed Leena's as well.

And seeing that video of her, breaking down, seeing the truth she had given them, a truth she would have been able to broadcast to everyone if they'd just given Sherlock a chance to explain, and…hearing her speech at the funeral…it broke him. It broke him in ways he hadn't known a human could be broken. He had to do it for her, he had to find some way to bring Sherlock back for her…because she wasn't happy. She'd been transferred back to America, Lestrade's orders, something about London holding too many memories, but she'd been sent back. She'd been doing poorly there, not just in concentration or in her work, but…she'd been away from her entire support system. Her team at the BAU was incredible, and so supportive yes, but…she'd needed people who had known Sherlock around her. So she'd been sent back, she'd moved into 221B Baker Street permanently, John having moved out and her unable to bear the thought of Mrs. Hudson renting the flat out to anyone else. Which was good, in a way, both women had been the most fond of Sherlock.

But she quit her job at Scotland Yard within a year of it happening. She just...couldn't focus on the cases without thinking about Sherlock being there. He'd _heard_ that at least, he couldn't say for sure, he and Donovan had been fired. But he had his sources in the Yard, they'd said that she'd managed to deduce the killer of a crime, and one of the others on the case had accidently called her Mrs. Holmes…she'd quit the next day. He didn't know what she did now, she just…stayed in 221B most of the time. She did go out, here and there, when John Watson would request dinner or lunch with his new girl, Mary…something. But where John had moved out completely, unable to bear being around reminders of Sherlock, Leena couldn't seem to part from them. He knew that Lestrade was worried, 2 years and she hadn't exactly moved on…though she was doing so in a far healthier way than he was apparently. She didn't go ranting about theories on how he was alive, in fact, she rebuffed him and refused him each time he came up with a new theory. He always ran it by her, as terrible and painful as he thought it might be for her, he just…wanted to give her hope.

"You both did this," Lestrade cut into his thoughts, "And it killed him and he's staying dead. Do you honestly believe that if you have enough stupid theories, it's going to change what really happened? You think if you wish hard enough, he'll come back? That Jackie will forgive you?" he scoffed at that, taking a sip of his coffee as he started to walk off for the Yard.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes!" Anderson called after him, he had to, he HAD to believe Sherlock survived…or he'd go stark raving mad...if he hadn't already that is.

"Yeah," Lestrade paused to look back at him, "Well, that won't bring him back."

"And, that after extensive police investigations, new evidence has been presented that Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty…"

Lestrade and Anderson looked over to see a news team was set up before the Yard, a reporter giving the latest broadcast.

"Amidst unprecedented scenes," a second team was also there, "There was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion."

"Sadly, all this comes too late for the detective and his fiancé, a Miss Jacqueline Jerrard," and a third as well, though this one was a woman, "The detective himself became something of a celebrity two years ago. Questions are now being asked as to why police let matters get so far. Sherlock Holmes fell to his death from the top of London's Bart's Hospital. Although he left no note, friends say it's unlikely he was able to cope with the..."

Lestrade swallowed at that, there HAD been a note, to John and Leena, but both refused to speak of it, and they couldn't bring the department to question them further, especially not after Leena revealed to all of them their hand in it, their hand in NOT discovering the truth and investigating and going after the real criminal.

"Well then, seems Jackie's sent out the evidence then," Lestrade sighed.

It had…been a suggestion of his, for the last two years, whenever he'd visit her, to check on her. He'd suggest she send out that evidence she'd had sitting in a lonely corner of the flat, gathering dust. She'd shown them all of it, the evidence that cleared Sherlock's name, but she'd refused to send it out back then, claiming no one would believe it, Kitty Riley's article too fresh in their minds. But he'd tried, vainly, throughout the year to get her to reconsider, even though he knew it would mean a storm of questioning about his department if she let it out but he just…he hadn't wanted her to turn into Anderson and get stuck, he'd wanted her to move on with her life. It seemed…she finally had. He'd thought it would help her cope, to have Sherlock's name cleared, to not be known as the 'Fiancé of a Fraud' or some other horrible title, to finally be able to let go with his reputation unmarred…he could only hope it would work.

He glanced at Anderson, holding up his cup of coffee, "Absent friends. Sherlock."

"Sherlock," Anderson held up a cup of his own.

"And may God rest his soul," Lestrade added as they took a sip in memory and honor.

~8~

Leena stood at the window of 221B Baker Street, staring out at London with a small smile on her face, fiddling with the engagement ring on her finger. She looked down at the small desk beside her, leaning over to pull one of the drawers open, letting out a small breath when she saw Irene's phone still lying there.

'_The Woman, but not THE woman…_'

She reached out and picked it up, just weighing it in her hand a moment, recalling that adventure and all that had been revealed during it…

'_You never try to change me, you know? And I…I love you for that. I imagine John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me, but it never is around you. You've been such an important part of my life Leena, without you...I wouldn't be where I am today._'

She sighed and placed it back into the drawer, shutting it. She looked down at her ring a moment, tugging it off to look at it, wondering what Sherlock would deduce if he looked at it. She could guess, long engagement, given the age of it. Loyal fiancé, because the inner side of it was just as old as the outside. Proud of the relationship, given the faint hint of polish on it, not much, it wasn't cleaned often, not compulsively cleaned, but enough where it was obvious that the woman wearing it cared a great deal for the ring. The woman wearing it was modest, simple, not focused on wealth because the ring itself was modest and simple with just a single small diamond in it. It was a ring of true commitment and not showing off.

'_I am who I am because of you. I...cannot be me without you. If I ever lost your trust...if I ever lost YOU...I don't know what I'd do. Will you marry me Jacqueline?_'

She shook her head, this happened more often than she'd like, her hearing him talking to her, as though he were actually there when she knew he wasn't, when she knew it was impossible for him to be. She glanced over at the map of the world she'd pinned up on the wall, all news clippings and strings and markers on it. He was in Serbia now. She'd sent Mycroft after him, it was taking him exactly 1 week longer there than it should have, 1 week that she should have found a news clipping of some sort about him in another place. So she'd stormed down to Mycroft's office, tossed a file on his desk, and ordered him to Serbia.

He'd looked a bit shocked and tried to cover it up, clearly he hadn't anticipated her to know the truth about Sherlock. There had only been a set number of people to know, and she, for some reason unknown to her, SHE didn't factor into that list. Well, that wasn't exactly true, she DID know why she wasn't on it. Mycroft could be hidden away in his office, and he naturally had a very uncaring look to him, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were off travelling so much they were hardly ever seen in public anyway, no one knew who they were, and Molly, well…no one thought about her. She and John though, they WOULD be in the public eye, they would be watched and scrutinized and all the enemies Sherlock had, anyone who knew about Moriarty's fixation on him…if she or John showed one single instant of not thinking Sherlock was dead, of not reacting in a way of someone in mourning…Sherlock would be in danger. It was hers and John's reaction everyone would be watching for.

She took enormous pride in knowing that she'd fooled even Mycroft into thinking she had truly believed Sherlock was dead. Fooling Anderson was more a pleasure to do. There was some truth in her reactions though. For a brief moment, right at the start, she HAD thought he was dead, until she'd remembered their code, until she'd worked it out and pushed past the grief to realize…he'd promised her he wouldn't ever leave her. And he had never broken a promise to her before. He wouldn't start now. And then she'd worked it out.

She knew his methods, she knew what he'd do to fool everyone. She'd worked it out, and just had Molly confirm it without really giving away too much. No one had told her the truth, no one had included her, and she'd managed to keep everyone thinking she truly thought Sherlock was dead.

Except Sherlock himself.

Honestly, standing there in the cemetery? Did he_ really_ think SHE wouldn't see him there when she'd glanced back at the grave before leaving with John and Mrs. Hudson? She'd spent more than 2 decades with the man, she saw all sorts of things that she hadn't before knowing him, he was standing right there! The naughty boy. She knew he'd taken her recording she'd left him, she knew that he knew that she knew that he was alive…

She closed her eyes and shook her head, oh that was confusing.

She blinked and looked out the window, smiling a bit when she saw John was outside, heading for the doors, two little boys walking past asking for a penny for Guy Fawkes. Oh yes, that was coming up soon, wasn't it? Only a few days away really. She sighed, explosions reminded her of Sherlock. Well, everything reminded her of Sherlock to be honest. Chemicals, hospitals, mystery novels, mystery movies, news reports, even tea reminded her of him. She glanced at the bookshelf, she could hardly stand to even touch her treasured Robin Hood books, because he was and always would be her Sherwood and her Locksley.

'_As you are my Maid Marian._'

And there went his voice in her head again. She'd only touched one of the books, and that was to replace the one that Sherlock had carved pages out of to place a syringe of morphine in once. And that was the last time. She knew it should be expected, living in the flat, that everything would remind her of Sherlock, it was HIS flat after all, his and John's. She knew Greg was getting worried for her, that she kept living there, surrounded by Sherlock but…it was all she had left to hold onto till he returned. She couldn't risk contacting him, she couldn't risk talking about him with Mycroft in public. Half the time she couldn't even risk being seen going to Mycroft without raising suspicion. She had to be very, _very_ careful. And she had to be very, very patient.

But for Sherlock, she'd wait forever.

She'd waited more than 20 years for him to realize she loved him.

She'd waited nearly 5 years in America to get back to him.

She could wait 2 years for him to return to her.

She looked towards the door to the flat when she heard the main doors downstairs open, hearing another set of Mrs. Hudson's door open as well, and knew that John had stepped in. She turned, slipping her ring back on, before heading down stairs to greet the man, being sure to pull a small blanet, like a decorative cloth down over her map of the world so no one would see. Those who visited the flat she saw coming, Mrs. Hudson rarely ever came up any more, waiting for her to come down instead, so she didn't often have to cover the map. But she knew that if anyone saw it, they'd think she'd finally lost it and turned into Anderson, so she had to take care to hide it till she could pin the cloth to the side once more.

~8~

Sherlock winced as he laid in Mycroft's office, on a reclining chair, getting his face shaved by one of Mycroft's men. His brother was brilliant, really just…brilliant, he'd just escaped Serbia with Mycroft's help _after_ being beaten to a pulp, with cuts, scrapes, and stitching all over his back…and the man's first order was to lie back and let the barber get to work.

Truly, that was just brilliant, sore back and lie back.

So he could barely contain his winces and flinches and groans of discomfort as he was trapped in Mycroft's office. He'd been in Serbia, having just dismantled the last of Moriarty's network…when he'd gotten a bit caught. It was his own fault he supposed he'd been…distracted. It was the very LAST piece of the puzzle, the last link in the chain that needed to be broken to make everything safe, to make it secure enough for him to return to London, to Leena. He'd likely been a bit too eager for that really, to return, and so he'd not noticed the signs that they were on to him till it was too late and he'd been caught.

He'd been eager, rushing, almost…desperate if he believed in being such a thing. But…it had been absolutely hell for him, the 4 years that Leena was in America, and for that he'd at least been able to email her and talk to her and text her and just...have some sort of contact with her. This time…2 years and he'd been completely cut off from her. None of his small contacts, the few he could manage having, would tell him anything about her, Mycroft's orders, naturally. He'd wanted Sherlock to be focused and not distracted by news of his fiancé, but it had had the reverse effect. _All_ he'd thought about the last two years was her, her and John, and getting back to London. He had made a promise to her, to himself, that he would see her married to him if it was the last thing he did.

And for one brief moment when he'd been caught, he honestly had thought it was going to be the end of him, that he'd have finally broken a promise to her. And then the man had left, some lie about the man's wife cheating on him, and he'd discovered that the man who had been watching him be beaten all that time was really Mycroft come to extract him. He had no idea how the man had known to come, he hadn't been able to reach his contacts to call for help, not that he'd ever call for help, and it wasn't unusual for any of his contacts to have not heard from him in ages.

Still, he didn't bother to ask, he just assumed it was one of Mycroft's informants that had let slip somehow. He was just grateful to be back in London, to be out of that and to finally be able to return. It truly had been torture, to be out there, with no word about Leena or John, more Leena than anything. He knew she'd promised to wait for him, but…2 years and he knew Mycroft wouldn't have told her he was alive…2 years and not knowing for sure he was still there…he could only imagine what had happened in that time.

There had been one brief time when he'd been in Germany, he'd had a bit of food poisoning, really quite awful, so bad he'd actually begun to hallucinate a short while. He'd had terrible visions of John being there for Leena, but being there for her in more than just a friendly way and his heart broke to think that perhaps John had been 'comforting' his fiancé that entire time! But he knew John, and when he recovered, he realized how ridiculous that was. Because Leena had, according to various sources, claimed that HE was it for her, just him, only him, and John would _never_ do that to him, and the man would likely have found another girl, a nurse or something similar to bond with and attempt courting, and they all knew how that would turn out.

He sometimes wondered why so many people blamed HIM for John's flub of relationships, HE managed to hold onto a girl 20 plus years and John could barely manage 20 days. So really, whose fault was it?

Certainly not his.

"You have been busy, haven't you?" Mycroft asked, pulling him out of his thoughts, "Quite the busy little bee. Hmm."

"Moriarty's network," he grunted, feeling his back tense at the effort to talk, he'd been mostly silent for ages, or speaking other languages, his voice was a bit more hoarse and raspy and deep than he remembered, "Took me two years to dismantle it."

"And you're confident you have?"

"The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle."

"Yes," Mycroft nodded, "You got yourself in deep there with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme."

Inwardly he was silently cursing himself though, that he hadn't noticed how deep his brother had gotten in with them. He…was getting rusty it appeared, that he hadn't realized. It had taken Leena storming into his office with a file of all Sherlock's happenings throughout the globe and documented accounts of how long he took in each place to point out that he was taking too long there and demand he go help his brother. He was quite…shocked to find that Leena was aware that Sherlock was alive and that he was in Serbia, but…if anyone could predict his brother's moves, it was her.

And she'd been right.

So he'd commenced 'Operation Robin Hood' to bring his brother back. Because now that he knew that Leena knew…it was only going to be a matter of time before everything came about, when Leena was worried…that was when she was unpredictable. And the only one she ever truly worried about was Sherlock. So he'd agreed to leave, with the subtle suggestion that, perhaps, she spread out that evidence she'd gathered, t omake for a happy return.

He'd never seen the girl smile so widely…or HUG him…in his entire life, as when he'd implied he would being Sherlock back for good.

But he wasn't about to tell his brother that, no, he would rather like to see Sherlock's own reaction to Leena.

"Colossal," Sherlock agreed.

"Anyway. You're safe now."

"Mmm," he hummed, grunting again as his back strained.

"A small 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss."

"What for?" Sherlock opened his eyes to scoff at his brother.

"For wading in. In case you've forgotten, field work is not my natural milieu."

"'Wading in?'" he rolled his eyes, sitting up, wincing at the move, "You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp!"

"I got you out."

"No, _I_ got me out. Why didn't you intervene sooner?"

"I couldn't risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the small smirk on Mycroft's face, "You were enjoying it."

"Nonsense."

"Definitely enjoying it," Sherlock smirked himself, making Mycroft eye him suspiciously for it, "What would Leena think if she found out?" he grinned as Mycroft's own smirk fell, "I can't say she'd warmly welcome you to the wedding, if you'd even still be invited."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed at that, at that threat, before adding a barb of his own, "You think there'll still be one?" he let out a laugh, "It's been 2 years Shirley."

He knew it was terrible, to imply that Leena had moved on. He knew that the only reason his brother had even agreed to this plan of his was because of Leena, because he'd made it quite clear that all of Moriarty's branches knew about her relation to him, how they were to be married, how she'd be the biggest target if anyone of Moriarty's men wanted to attack. Sherlock had left for 2 years, kept out of contact, and spent all his time dismantling Moriarty's base so he could return to Leena, to see her safe.

To imply she'd moved on, that she hadn't been waiting as patiently as Penelope had for Odysseus, was cruel. But so was threatening not to let him come to the wedding. He'd been waiting more than 20 years for this to happen!

"Listen," he cut in, seeing Sherlock glaring back at him, "Do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going undercover? Smuggling my way into their ranks like that? The noise, the _people_!"

"I didn't know you spoke Serbian," Sherlock remarked as he laid back down with a soft grunt, allowing the barber to continue with his work.

"I didn't. But the language has a Slavic root. Frequent Turkish and German loan words. Took me a couple of hours."

"Hmm, you're slipping."

"Middle-age, brother mine. Comes to us all."

Sherlock couldn't help but manage a small smile at that, middle-age, living to middle age did sound wonderful, if it meant that Leena would be with him as well.

~8~

Leena winced and rubbed her head, closing her eyes as Mrs. Hudson half-threw her china onto the kitchen table of 221 Baker Street, the tea in its little pot, the plates with cookies on it, setting them down harshly, uncaring as to whether they'd break as she angrily 'welcomed' John back. In the last two years, John had visited them both a handful of times just after he'd moved out. Literally, they could count it on one hand alone. Mrs. Hudson had tried to be understanding of it, but…when John hardly ever called her even just to chat and she had to find out how his life was going through Leena, through her meeting him for lunch here and there or meeting Mary, or even when he'd call HER mobile and not ring up Mrs. Hudson…well, the woman was understandably irritated by that.

"Oh, no," Mrs. Hudson sighed as she half-slammed the tray down before John, "You don't take it, do you?"

"No," John said softly.

Mrs. Hudson nodded, silently taking a seat beside Leena, opposite John, "You forget a little thing like that."

"Yes."

Leena smiled, not always, you didn't always forget. She could remember exactly how Sherlock arranged his sock drawer and she'd not seen or looked at his socks in ages. She'd moved into his room, permanently, put her clothes in half his closet, her other items in half the other drawers, ones she'd found had been left empty just for her. She'd refused to let them go through and see about donating the clothes. Sherlock and his family were wealthy enough, yes, so was her family, her father and his had been business partners, made a fortune, so she knew it would be no small cry for him to buy a new wardrobe when he returned, but…she couldn't bring herself to let them throw out those clothes, it was like they were all she had left to remember that Sherlock WAS real and not just a figment of her imagination.

She'd always been a bit of a lonely child, even in France, growing up with her eidetic memory, being able to remember whatever she saw or read…she knew it was what had inspired Sherlock to build his Mind Palace, but for her…it had been a burden. None of the other children had felt it fun to be around her, not till she met Sherlock, he'd been the first, he'd been the first one to be impressed with how she could rattle off information. It became easier when she was older, when she'd gotten a job at the BAU as well, she'd had to deal with things that she saw, remembering every single moment of it, every body, every scene, but…equally she'd been able to help, remembering different types of weapons to identify, remembering different ways to different knives cut, remembering different key codes and letters and bits of evidence.

Sherlock…to get rid of all of that…it would be too much like trying to erase him, make it so he didn't exist, and she didn't want that. So she'd asked to keep his clothes. Every so often, when she'd have a nightmare, when she'd see him fall and hit the ground and truly believe that he had really died, that he wasn't coming back, she'd curl up with one of his shirts or put on his old blue dressing gown and just take in his lingering scent. It was fading after 2 years, but she had hope that he'd soon be there to renew all that.

"You forget lots of little things, it seems," Mrs. Hudson remarked, reaching out to take Leena's hand in her own.

It was quite the opposite with Leena than it had been for John, Leena was still there. Still. After 2 years she hadn't left the flat. She found herself almost wishing that Leena would move out, as John had, because she knew Leena would keep in touch, she'd still call her and visit and everything. But…she…it wasn't healthy for Leena to stay there, to keep being reminded of Sherlock everywhere. If Leena hadn't moved back in when she had, she would have been able to clean out 221B and get rid of most of Sherlock's things, help with the process, but Leena wasn't grieving properly. It was like the girl knew Sherlock was dead but she wasn't letting go of him.

"Uh huh," John swallowed, seeing the action.

Truth be told, he was worrying for Leena as well. He had introduced her to Mary, the two got on marvelously, but…whenever they tried to double date with her, sometimes even needing to trick her into coming to get to that point, she'd sit there politely, but tense, not engaging and then coldly shake the other man's hand and walk off…and then not speak to him for two weeks. It was terrible, he'd found such happiness in Mary, he'd found a woman who understood the sort of friendship he and Sherlock and Leena had come to have, she wasn't threatened by Leena, she was so supportive of him and…she helped him move on, and he just wanted that for Leena too.

"Not sure about that," Mrs. Hudson remarked, nodding at John's face.

"Hmm?" John looked up, confused.

"Your um…furry little friend there," Leena offered him a smile at his nose, where John was sporting a rather…odd moustache. Well the moustache itself wasn't odd, it was just…seeing it on JOHN was the odd part, it didn't suit him.

'_I can't believe he's keeping that._'

John rolled his eyes at that, Leena made comments like that all the time about his moustache, little jokes, nothing to insulting, she wasn't Sherlock, but still, it was clear she wasn't a fan of it much. She liked to call it his furry friend, remark that it looked like a rather thick caterpillar.

Apparently she hadn't told Mrs. Hudson about it though.

'_He looks like an old man._'

"Ages you," Mrs. Hudson agreed, making Leena smile at how she'd agreed with the voice of Sherlock in her head.

"Just trying it out," he shrugged.

"Try shaving it John," Leena told him.

"It ages you," Mrs. Hudson repeated, before sighing as they fell into silence, "Look...I'm not your mother, I've no right to expect it..."

"No..." John began, realizing what the woman was about to start on.

Leena had told him a few times that Mrs. Hudson was saddened that she hardly ever heard from him. It was why he'd come to see her, well, part of it, he'd needed to see Leena too, there was something…something he wanted to ask Mary but he didn't feel right doing so until he spoke to them, let them know. It was the final step he needed to truly move on and, he supposed, a part of him felt guilty for moving on while Leena wasn't. He just…wanted to get permission from her, well, not permission, he'd do it with or without Leena's blessing, but he really did want her support for what he wanted to do.

"But just one phone call, John! Just _one_ phone call from YOU would have done," Mrs. Hudson continued.

"I know," John sighed, guilty.

"After all we went through, and you left Leena and I here alone, nearly two years and not a word from you unless it was through her and…"

"Yes. I am sorry."

"Look," Mrs. Hudson looked at the two of them, seeing Leena bowing her head a bit at the turn in conversation, "I understand how difficult it was for you both after...after..."

'_Not dead._'

"Please don't," Leena whispered, closing her eyes, despite what she knew of Sherlock and what he'd done…she hated talking about it. She'd had nightmares for weeks, _months_ after it had happened, of Sherlock jumping, of him falling, it was just…she didn't want to ever talk about it. She'd only just come to terms with the fact that it had happened and been necessary and she didn't want to start back on it again.

"I just let it slide, Mrs. Hudson," John tried to explain, "I let it all slide. And it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone, somehow. Do you know what I mean?"

Leena reached out and took his hand that was resting on the table, resting hers on top of his, "I know John," she offered him a smile, "There is always so much that_ one single phone call_ can do," she murmured, looking down, thinking about how much she would have liked ONE call from one specific person as well, "It's no fault of yours, you couldn't…you just couldn't do it. I get it, and I think Mrs. Hudson does too, don't you?"

"Thank you," he smiled back at her as Mrs. Hudson nodded.

~8~

Mycroft stood at his desk as he watched Sherlock putting on a white shirt, it was a loaner, with Leena still in 221B there wasn't any way for them to get him some of his own clothes, he'd been on the run in Serbia without any supplies of his own so it was basically whatever pants and shirt Anthea had been able to go out and secure while Sherlock's dreadfully long hair and ridiculous beard were being cut, "I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock, is that quite clear?"

"What do you think of this shirt?" Sherlock frowned as he looked at it, it was white, Leena always favored him in his purple shirt for some reason, but all Mycroft had to offer him was just…white. It was so boring.

'_I DO love your purple shirt,_' he heard Leena's voice whisper in his mind, making him close his eyes a moment, it was not the first time that had happened, nor would it be the last. He doubted it would stop until he'd seen Leena again.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and rolled at how nearly Mycroft seemed about ready to stomp his foot, "I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft. Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in. Feel every quiver of its beating heart…"

"Are you talking about London or Leena?"

"Mycroft!"

"Oh, alright,_ Jackie_," Mycroft rolled _his_ eyes this time, "But don't be surprised if others are calling her Leena as well without you there hounding them about it. Quite childish really."

"Says the man who just called me Shirley?" Sherlock muttered back, though he felt his heart squeeze at the thought that someone else might be calling her Leena as well, that was HIS name for her, and he didn't like sharing.

"One of our men_ died_ getting this information," Anthea stated from the side, bringing both men back to the topic at hand, "All the chatter, all the traffic concurs, there's going to be a terrorist strike on London, a big one."

"And what about John Watson?" Sherlock glanced over.

Mycroft frowned, he'd half expected Sherlock to ask about Leena, "John?"

"Mhmm. Have you seen him as well?"

"Oh, yes," Mycroft scoffed, "We meet up every Friday for fish and chips."

"Much like you meet Leena the first Wednesday of every other month for tea?" Sherlock smirked, seeing his brother's lips purse at his deduction.

"I've kept a weather eye on him, on Lee…_Jackie_," he corrected at the glare Sherlock sent him, "Too, of course," Mycroft nearly sneered, not answering the question but having Anthea hand him a file, "We haven't been in touch at all?"

"To what?" Sherlock wondered.

"Prepare him, prepare either of them?"

Sherlock smirked at how Mycroft was still under the impression Leena had no idea he was alive, he'd kept that little tidbit to himself.

'_I do so love it when we make Mycroft THINK he's in charge Locksley. Well done._'

"No," he grimaced, shaking his head from Leena's voice to see a photo of John, with his moustache and all, "Well, we'll have to get rid of that."

"'We?'"

"Leena and I."

'_I don't like his furry little friend either. Ages him a bit doesn't it?_'

"He looks ancient," he nodded, "We can't be seen to be wandering around with an old man. Hatman, Catwoman, and Robin," he murmured under his breath, smiling when, with a turn of the page, he was on a section for Leena. He smiled as he saw her, the first recent sighting of her in 2 years, his finger reaching out to gently trace along her cheek in the picture. He frowned though as he noticed more about her, she looked…thinner, paler, tired…

Well, he'd have to see about that.

He couldn't have his 'blushing bride' collapsing before their wedding from illness, could he?

~8~

Leena led John and Mrs. Hudson up to her flat, ooh…that was weird to think, HER flat, well she supposed it was by now, what with her having been the only one to live there for nearly 2 years. John had stayed for a few weeks, when her nightmares had been the worst, but when he thought she was getting better…he'd gone. But they hadn't been better, she'd just gotten better at hiding them.

"So why now?" Mrs. Hudson asked as they both watched Leena head to the window and look out it, reminding them both so much of when Sherlock would do that, when there was some sort of case on the horizon, when he suspected that the police would need his help, he'd stand there and wait for Lestrade to show up. But they both knew she was likely waiting for a man who would never come, "What changed your mind?"

Leena smiled, looking over at him, seeing John shifting, "Go on John," she nodded at him.

He looked at her before rolling his eyes, realizing she'd just deduced him, she was becoming more and more like Sherlock every day except without the feel of a pompous arse about her. She, of course, would work out what he was nervous about. Not only because of that but, she'd met Mary, she liked the woman, had told him so herself, how happy she was for him.

But he'd seen tears in her eyes and he knew it had to be hard for her to see him with someone he loved, knowing he was about to announce his intent to marry her, and know that she'd never be able to marry the man she loved.

"Well, I've got some news…" John began, taking a breath.

"Oh, God," Mrs. Hudson nearly fell back onto the sofa, staring at him in alarm, "Is it serious?"

"What?" John's eyes widened.

"He's not ill Mrs. Hudson," Leena gave a small laugh, "He's just got something rather…big to tell us, don't you John?"

He swallowed and nodded, "I've, well, I'm...moving on."

"You're emigrating?" Mrs. Hudson guessed.

'_Has she been taking lessons from Anderson?_'

"No," Leena chuckled a bit at that.

John had to smile at that though, at seeing her smiling and laughing, small though it was. And that was the difference between her and Sherlock, when Sherlock had been miserable, he expected everyone else to be miserable too, when Leena was sad she didn't want others to be too, she wanted them to be happy and she was happy for them, "I've er...I have met someone."

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson smiled, "Ah, lovely."

"We've met," Leena added, starting to smirk as she picked her words carefully so as not to give way anything and see Mrs. Hudson's reaction, "They're so sweet together Mrs. Hudson, so in love."

"Yeah," John smiled at that as well, "We're getting married. Well, I'm going to ask, anyway."

"So soon after Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson gave a small glance at Leena.

But Leena just walked over to John with a wide grin, "Congratulations John," she hugged him tightly.

John let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, he hadn't known why he ever expected Leena to not be happy for him or supportive of him, that just wasn't her. Unless it was Irene Adler he was sure she'd wish the best for anyone, "Thanks Jacks," he murmured in her ear, squeezing her tighter. It was…a tiny nickname of his own for her. Sherlock would be turning in his grave to hear anyone call her Leena, and most had stopped, everyone called her Jackie or Jacqueline, but he…he wanted his own special name for her, and the closest he could work out was 'Jacks' as no one, as far as he knew, called her that.

"What's his name?" Mrs. Hudson called, making Leena laugh as she pulled away.

John shook his head at the knowing look in Leena's eyes and realized she'd known Mrs. Hudson would jump to that conclusion, despite Sherlock being with Leena, for some reason Mrs. Hudson still maintained the belief that_ he_ was gay.

"That's 'what's HER name,' Mrs. Hudson," Leena gave in.

"A woman?!" Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened.

"Yes, of course it's a woman," John sighed.

"You really _have_ moved on, haven't you?"

"Mrs. Hudson, how many times? I did not carry a secret torch for Sherlock Holmes!"

"Live and let live, that's my motto."

"Listen to me…I am not gay!"

"Oh but you rather are with Mary though," Leena joked, "Happy, lighthearted, carefree?" she nudged him, "I'm very happy for you John," she told him, earnest, putting a hand on his shoulder to squeeze it, "You deserve to be happy."

John looked at her sadly as she headed back for the window, "So do you Jacks," he whispered under his breath.

~8~

"I think…" Sherlock began, "I'll surprise John."

"John?" Mycroft eyed his brother, of all people he expected Leena to be the first one he went to see so it was odd to hear him mention John instead.

"He'll be delighted," Sherlock nodded, not seeming to notice the question in Mycroft's word. Well, SEEMING to, he did know what his brother was asking him, but he had a plan, he had a reason for seeing John first.

"You think so?"

"Mhmm," he nodded, "Pop into Baker Street, who knows," he opened his arms and shrugged, "Jump out of a cake."

"Baker Street?" Mycroft scoffed, "He isn't there anymore. Why would he be?"

Sherlock stiffened at that, "And…Leena?"

"Jackie is still there yes," Mycroft rolled his eyes, "But it's been two years. John's got on with his life."

The implication on Mycroft's words were not lost on him. JOHN had gotten on with his life. LEENA was still there, in Baker Street. And that…bothered him. He wasn't quite sure which bothered him more though, the thought that John wasn't with Leena, as he'd assumed the entire time he'd been away, protecting her and keeping an eye on her, helping her and just being there for her…or that Mycroft seemed to think Leena hadn't moved on.

Yes, he was thrilled to find that she still lived in Baker Street, it had to be a sign, given the psychological nature of humans, from what he understood of it, that she still loved him, despite what he'd done. Her message to him had implied she'd wait, to find out she actually had…well, it shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did. HE had waited 4 years for her to return, though he knew that it was a set thing. He knew she'd only be in America for 5 years, that she WOULD come back, Leena…she didn't have the same assurance, she had not time period to wait in, it could have been forever for all she knew. Not that he would ever be able to stand being away from her for so long.

But there was something else bothering him about that. For Mycroft to be worried (as he had heard a hint of it in the man's voice) it had to be something bigger. Mycroft had feared she hadn't let go of him, that she was clinging to his memory and not moving on, like John had, not living her life. But…that wasn't the Leena he knew, she was stronger than that. HE knew, of course, that she 'wasn't moving on' because she DID know he was alive and that he would be coming back.

"What life?" he countered instead, "I've been away. Where's he going to be tonight?"

"How would I know?" Mycroft sighed.

"You always know, you're worse than Leena," he remarked, with her little hacking phone and other methods of keeping an eye on things, she did tend to know where people were and what was going on with the people she cared about. She had kept track of the politics and other happenings in England when she'd been in America, going so far as to even keep track of the weather just to text him, jokingly, to remember an umbrella or sunblock or something.

Mycroft was worse though.

And he proved it in his next words, "He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion, though I prefer the 2001."

"I think maybe I'll just drop by him first," Sherlock nodded.

Mycroft frowned at that, again with the 'first' it was starting to unsettle him how he wasn't considering Leena, had…had his brother moved on himself in the time he'd been away? No, surely he hadn't, he had been FAR too defensive and curious about Leena's whereabouts and condition. But then…why didn't he want to go see her first?

"You know, it is just possible that you won't be welcome," he warned his brother.

Sherlock scoffed, "No, it isn't. Now, where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"You know what," Sherlock gave his brother a look...

Only for Anthea to walk in with his usual and familiar black coat, helping him into it with a, "Welcome back, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock smirked at that, looking over at Mycroft, "Thank you. Blud."

~8~

Sherlock stepped into a rather fancy restaurant, already knowing that whatever reason John was there for, it involved a woman and possibly a proposition of marriage. John was not the sort to come to a place like that, and that was NOT something that would have changed in the 2 years he'd been away. So it had to be something John deemed important or something that was meant to live up to the expectations of others, namely society. If John really was proposing, his partner would be someone he felt comfortable around, someone he mixed well with, and that would NOT be a woman who expected fancy things like this.

"Sir, can I help you?" a waiter walked up to him as he stood there.

Sherlock glanced over when a buzz went off in the man's pocket, a phone, eyeing the man critically to see he was an expectant father, "Your wife just texted you, possibly her contractions have started."

"Excuse me, sir," the man's eyes widened, turning and rushing away to take the phone out.

Sherlock smirked, seeing he'd been right, the man wouldn't have even bothered to check if his wife wasn't at that point in her pregnancy. He stood there a moment longer, spotting John in the distance, waiting alone at a table, and then tried to work out a…surprise. He hated surprises, well, it wasn't like many people could actually do that to him, give him a surprise, Leena did though, she always did. She'd surprised him when she'd come back early.

But…it had been 2 years and this would probably be rather funny, John's reaction to the news of him being alive, surprises tended to make things more funny, didn't they?

He looked at the waiters and waitresses, seeing that he was dressed similarly to them in his black tux, but that they all had black bowties with them.

He grinned, seeing an older man wearing one, and walked over. He 'accidently' spilled water on him, "Oh, sir, I am so, so sorry," he tried to dab at the man's front with one hand while sneakily pulling his bowtie off with the other, "Er, please, let me just go to the kitchen and dry that off for you," he walked over to another man he spotted who had just placed his glasses down on the menu, "Finished with that, sir?" he deftly took the menu up, glasses and all, and slid them on, "Allow me to take it for you," he looked around, putting the bowtie on, and grinned, seeing a woman set down a pen beside her, "Madam," he made his way over, switching out her menu with another while picking up the pen from the other side of her, "Can I suggest you look at this menu, it's completely identical."

And now…now he was ready for John.

He quickly drew two thick lines just above his lip, giving him a laughable moustache of his own, as he could see John STILL had his furry bush growing there, and headed over, "Can I help you with anyzing, sir?" he asked, adapting the accent he had heard from Leena so often in his youth.

He was actually quite good, though that might have been from teasing her about her accent when it had been ridiculously thick as a child. It had been for her own benefit though. He knew she was trying to learn English, to learn to speak without her accent getting in the way, so he'd tease her (as playfully as he could manage) so she'd work harder at dropping it.

'_You're still terrible at it Locksley._'

"Hi, yeah," John nodded, not looking up, "I'm looking for a bottle of champagne. A good one."

"Hmm, well, zese are all excellent vintages, sir."

"Oh, it's not really my area, what do you suggest?"

"Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but eef you'd like my perzonal recommendation..." he trailed off, hoping John would look up at that.

But the man didn't, "Hmm?"

"Zis last one on ze list ees a favorite of mine," he began, wanting to see if John would realize it was him from that clue, John knew what his favorite wine was when Leena had gifted him with a bottle of it for his birthday. But John seemed none the wiser so he tried another clue, "It ees, you might in fact say, like a face from ze past."

"Great," John nodded, "I'll have that one please."

"It ees familiar, but with ze quality of surprise!" he added.

"Well, surprise me," he glanced at Sherlock but didn't seem to really notice him, which made Sherlock sigh.

'_Psychologically, John already has it in mind that you're dead Locksley,_' he heard Leena profiling away, '_Therefore, the man before him is just a waiter and can't be you. If he's not looking for you, he won't see you._'

"Yes, thank you Leena," he mumbled under his breath, before speaking louder to John, "I'm certainly endeavoring to, sir," and heading off, though he was sure to keep John's table in sight…

He stiffened and straightened when he saw a young blonde woman in a light purple dress join him, her hair short, her dress modest. His eyes narrowed, he was aware of who she was, Mary Morstan, according to Mycroft's files, the woman who had been seeing John for quite some time, there were even pictures or two of Leena with them, or even with just Mary, the two of them at a small café, Leena had appeared sad, her head bowed, with Mary reaching across with her hand on Leena's, her body language indicating she was comforting the woman.

He knew Leena, she was an excellent judge of character, she had to be in her profession. If she felt that this Mary woman was in anyway a threat or a danger to John, someone actively trying to harm him, she would have found a way to persuade him away from her. The fact that John was there, bumbling over a proposition given how he could see him stuttering and floundering and how Mary was trying to calm him down, meant that Leena approved.

And if Leena approved, then Mary must have been a good woman for John.

And it DID relieve the still lingering fears he'd had that John and Leena might have...but no…here was John, committed to Mary…or trying to commit to her. He was actually starting to feel pained watching John try and make his proposal. It was actually physically painful to watch.

Oh, that was enough of that, time to come to the rescue before John mucked it up even further. He honestly didn't know what was so hard about a thing like that, he'd proposed to Leena flawlessly, not counting a hesitation or two here or there as he gathered his thoughts. But his, when he'd done it, how he'd done it, hadn't exactly been planned out like John's had. Didn't men rehearse things like that?

"Sir," Sherlock stepped up to him with a bottle of wine, "You'll find zis vintage exceptionally to your liking. Eet has all ze qualities of ze old, with ze color of ze new."

"No, sorry, not now, please," John tried to shake him away.

"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers," he continued though, slowly dropping his accent, "Suddenly one is aware of staring into the face of an old friend," he pulled off his glasses.

"No, look, seriously, could you just…" and then John looked up, and truly LOOKED at the man standing before him.

"Interesting thing, a tuxedo," Sherlock mumbled after a moment, "Lends distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters."

Mary frowned as John stood, a hard look on his face and she knew something was wrong, "John? John, what is it? What?"

"Well, the short version..." Sherlock put the wine down, moving to clasp his hands behind his back, "Not dead. Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. Leena wouldn't approve, could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defense, it was very funny," he laughed a bit, before he noticed the glare in John's eyes, "Ok, it's not a great defense…"

'_It's a rubbish one Sherwood. You should really apologize._'

Mary's eyes widened as she finally got a good look at the man whose back had been mostly to her, and recognized him from a photo or two that Leena had shown her, "Oh, no, you're..."

"Oh, yes."

"Oh, my God!"

"Not quite."

"You died, you jumped off a roof!"

"No."

"You're dead!"

"No, I'm quite sure, I checked. Excuse me," he turned and dipped a napkin into Mary's water, looking at John as he wiped off his penned on moustache, ignoring the growing look of anger in John's eyes, "Does...does yours rub off too?"

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Do you have any idea what you've done?! To John!? To Jackie!?"

"Ok, John…" Sherlock ignored her, realizing that John's silence was likely a rather bad sign, "I'm suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology..."

Before he could continue, John slammed his fist on the table, hunching over a bit as he tried to breathe but ended up nearly gasping in the process.

"Alright, just…" Mary tried to calm him, "John, just keep..."

"Two years," John panted, glaring at Sherlock, struggling to speak, "_Two years_! Hmm? I thought..." he swallowed hard, shaking his head, trying to get the words out, "I thought...you were dead. Hmm? Now, you let me grieve. Hmm. How could you do that?_ How_?!"

"Wait," Sherlock held up his hands, "Before you do anything that you might regret, um, one question, just let me ask one question…" he smiled a bit and gestured at his top lip, "Are you really going to keep that?"

And then John grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him back onto the ground, trying his level best to strangle the consulting detective…

~8~

Needless to say, they'd been kicked out of that eating establishment for John's attempted murder, which was why they had now found themselves in a diner instead, Sherlock on one side of a table, John and Mary on the other, the two with their arms crossed, looking at Sherlock with hard expressions as the man sat with his hands under his chin, speaking.

"I calculated that there were 13 possibilities once I'd invited Moriarty onto the roof," Sherlock explained, "I wanted to avoid dying, if at all possible. Leena would have been very cross and killed me herself if…" he trailed off, seeing John's glare intensify at the mention of her, so he cleared his throat, "The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with washing bags. Impossible, the angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling..."

"You know, for a genius, you can be remarkably thick," John cut in.

"What?"

"I don't care how you faked it, Sherlock. I want to know _why_."

"Why?" he scoffed, "Because Moriarty had to be stopped! He..."

'_Not the 'why' he was speaking of Sherwood._'

"Oh. Why, as in..." he nodded, realizing what John was asking, "I see. Yes. Why? That's a little more difficult to explain."

"I've got all night."

"Actually, um, that was mostly Mycroft's idea."

"Oh, so it was your brother's plan?" his jaw clenched at that, finding out that Mycroft, his 'archenemy' of all people, had known.

"Oh, but he would have needed a confidante," Mary defended, before seeing the look John was giving her, "Sorry," she moved back to crossing her arms and glaring at Sherlock for John, not noticing Sherlock's eyes narrow slightly at how she'd known that.

"But he was the only one?" John swallowed, Leena's reaction, he knew…_couldn't_ have been anything short of her NOT knowing, "The only one who knew?"

"A couple of others," Sherlock admitted, "It was a very elaborate plan, it had to be. The next of the 13 possibilities was..."

"Who else? Who else knew? Who?!" and then he froze, HAD her reaction been fake?! "WAS it Jackie? Did SHE know?! Did you tell HER!?"

"No," Sherlock answered, "I told her nothing."

John glared again, "Have you been to see her?"

"No."

"What the bloody hell Sherlock!?" John roared, "You came to see ME first!? She's your bloody _fiancé_ and you're sitting here with ME!? How could you not go right to her and tell her you're alive!?"

"Isn't there an expression, 'saving the best for last?'"

John just gaped at him, completely thunderstruck by the man's reaction. But of course, Sherlock Bloody Holmes was a sociopath, he probably had no idea that he SHOULD go see Leena first.

"If it wasn't Jackie," Mary cut in, "Then who?"

"Molly," Sherlock answered.

"Molly?!" John gaped.

"John..." Mary turned to him.

"Molly Hooper and some of my homeless network and that's all," Sherlock interrupted this time, "Ok?"

"Ok," John scoffed, "So just your brother, Molly Hooper, and 100 tramps."

"Ha, no!" Sherlock laughed, "25 at most."

And then John reached across the table to grab Sherlock by one hand, pulling his other back to swing at him…

~8~

And so the trio now found themselves standing in a deli instead, Sherlock holding a napkin to his busted lip, a result of John's assault.

"Seriously," he had to ask as he looked at John, "It's not a joke? You're really keeping this?" he gestured to his upper lip.

"Er, yeah," John shifted, seeming just a bit less angry now that he'd tried to kill Sherlock twice.

"Sure?"

"Mary likes it."

"Hmm, no, she doesn't."

"She does."

"She doesn't," he mumbled under his breath, as John turned to look at Mary who gave him a sort of 'no that's not true' look that really only came across as she was saying it for his benefit.

"Oh, don't…" she began when she realized she'd been caught.

"Oh, brilliant!" John grumbled.

"Look, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know how to tell you..."

"Right, no, no, this is charming. I've really missed this," he gestured at Sherlock before rounding on the man, "One word, Sherlock, that is all I would have needed! _One word_ to let me know that you were alive! Just one phone cal…" he stopped dead, letting out a breath as he closed his eyes, Leena's words coming to him.

He'd done the same to Mrs. Hudson, hadn't he?

"I've nearly been in contact so many times," Sherlock admitted, much like John had to Mrs. Hudson as well, "But...I worried that, you know, you might say something indiscreet."

"What?" John's head snapped up to glare at him.

"You know, let the cat out of the bag."

"So this is _my_ fault?!"

"Oh, God!" Mary sighed, shaking her head at how John was reacting.

"Why am I the only one who thinks that this is wrong?! The only one reacting like a human being?!"

"Over-reacting," Sherlock commented.

"Over-reacting!?"

"John!" Mary tried to calm him.

"Over-reacting!" John just continued on his tirade, "So you fake your own death and you waltz in here, large as bloody life! Shh. But I'm not meant to have a problem with it, 'cos Sherlock Holmes thinks it's a perfectly ok thing to do!"

"Shut up!" Sherlock hissed, glancing around at the few stragglers in the deli, "I don't want everyone knowing I'm still alive!"

"Oh, so it's still a secret, is it?!"

"Yes, it's still a secret! Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Swear to God!"

"London is in danger, John," Sherlock told him, serious now, "There's an imminent terrorist attack and I need you and Leena to help."

"You need my help?" he scoffed.

But Sherlock smirked, "You _have_ missed this, admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the three of us against the rest of the world!"

And then John lunged at him again, grabbing him by the lapels, but instead of trying to strangle him, no, this time…a head butt was sufficient.

~8~

...which then led the three of them kicked out of their third location and forced to stand outside the deli for a cab.

"I don't understand," Sherlock mumbled as he stood there beside Mary, a wad of paper napkins to his nose as they both bled from the force of John's attack, "I said I'm sorry, isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

Mary eyed him, "Gosh, you don't know anything about human nature, do you?"

"Hmm, nature?" he paused to think, "No. Human? No."

Mary smiled softly though, "Unless it's Jackie?" Sherlock gave her a look and she glanced over at John, who was trying to hail a cab a few feet away, "I'll talk him round."

Sherlock blinked at that, "You will?"

"Oh, yeah," she smiled, "Can't have you and John at odds when I get Jackie to talk YOU round to a double date one day," she joked.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at her mentioning Leena again, and eyed her critically, deducing her. There were…quite a few things about this Mary Morstan that weren't in Mycroft's files. Cat lover, short-sighted, he knew she was a nurse, appendix scar, secret tattoo, guardian, and…liar.

Well, THAT was something he'd have to look into.

But before he could try to get more off her, John managed to grab a cab, "Mary!" he called.

Mary gave Sherlock a playful roll of her eyes before jogging off to John, the two of them slipping into the cab before it headed off, him watching it go.

~8~

Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen, sighing as she listened to the radio and washed the dishes. Leena had made dinner for them both and the girl had offered to do the dishes as well, but it was a system they'd developed, whoever made the dinner, the other would clean the dishes.

"…very common belief, with an anti-terrorism bill..." the radio played…when she heard a thud from the hall, "The Government feels duty-bound to push through the legislation with all due exped..."

Mrs. Hudson looked at the frying pan in her hands before she went to investigate, clutching it tightly in her rubber gloves as though it were a weapon, and crept to the doors. She opened it, the one that led to the main hall, and peered out…gasping when she saw a familiar silhouette in the glass top of the door before her.

Slowly, it opened…and Sherlock stepped in…making her scream…

~8~

Sherlock paused as he reached the top of the stairs that would lead to 221B, the door was shut and...he hesitated with his hand on the knob. He knew Leena was there, right behind that door she'd be there. Mrs. Hudson had told him that she was in, not that the woman really had to tell him anything. He could smell her, her unique scent of apples and roses, it was stronger here, it meant she was there. He hadn't smelled that combination in...years...and he'd actually found himself once or twice, when he was able to do so, munching on an apple as he sat in a quaint cafe that had flowers on the tables, roses specifically. Just...once or twice in two years, on her birthday really.

It had been the first time since he'd met her that he hadn't been able to call her or text her to wish her a happy birthday.

He leaned forward, resting his head to the wood of the door, why was he hesitating? Leena was just on the other side of the door, his Leena, and here he was...NOT opening it? It had to be a result of the thrashing John had given him, yes, that had to be it. He certainly wasn't nervous, no, he didn't get nervous, he didn't feel, well...that wasn't entirely true. He did feel, but he was rather good at reminding himself of the chemical properties of feeling and how different chemicals within the body stimulated certain feelings and...it just wasn't nerves. No.

And it wasn't him dreading what her reaction would be to him either, whether she'd be happy or crying or...angry with him. He hated when she was angry, when she was disappointed in him. But it wasn't that either, certainly not.

He shook his head, taking a breath...and pushed the door open.

The room was the same, it was exactly the same, right down to the bullet holes in the wall and the faded yellow happy face that he'd marked up on it. The chairs were in the same spots, only really the books and other various odds and ends on the tables moved around, but...it still held the same feel of the 221B that he'd left. Though he hardly gave more than a second's notice to that as his gaze was pulled to the blonde woman sitting on the sofa with a book in her lap.

And there was silence.

Neither of them said anything, not even Sherlock, who stood there, staring at her as she hardly looked up from the book she was intently reading. And he could tell she was actually READING it by how her eyes skimmed the page back and forth. She was actually reading...while he was standing there...not dead. But then again she had worked out that he hadn't really died.

"You're late," she commented just as he moved to open his mouth, still not looking up.

"Am I?" he inquired, stepping into the room and shutting the door.

She gave a small nod, turning the page, "I was expecting you two weeks ago," she reached out onto the coffee table and grabbed a small object that had his eyes narrowing...a small medallion with Chinese symbols on it, like a...necklace...like the ones he'd seen in the Lucky Cat all those years ago. It HAD been her! He KNEW he'd caught her scent there. But his thoughts were pulled back to the present when she placed the necklace into the book like a bookmark and placed it on the arm of the sofa, turning to look at him, "Got a bit caught up in Serbia did you?"

"You knew?" he blinked.

She smirked, "I'm hardly going to tell you till I get one."

He blinked again before a smile made it's way onto his face and he tugged off his scarf and jacket, Leena rising from the sofa, their eyes locked on one another through the whole process. He made his way over to her as she opened her arms expectantly and he reached out to hug her to him tightly, the entire scene playing out so much like when SHE had returned to HIM from America during the Pips fiasco.

"I missed you," he murmured in her ear, swallowing hard when his voice broke for a moment, having gone deep with emotion.

This last time had been the hardest experience of his life, to be completely cut off from her. To have no way to see her or contact her or call her or text or anything...two years with nothing and now...now he had her back. He was just...relieved that she was reacting this way instead of how John had reacted. He would have accepted it though, if she had slapped him or ranted against him or anything, he'd have fully deserved it. Yes, he deserved it from John as well, he'd let the man who was a friend think him dead, but Leena...she was the woman he was going to marry. He expected far worse a reaction from her despite knowing he was alive.

So he was inordinately pleased and grateful that he was getting THIS reaction instead because...

"Two years is FAR too long to go without a Holmes Hug," she whispered back, echoing the thoughts he'd been about to have, though thinking more of her hugs, of being in her arms in general, "I missed you too Locksley," she pulled away and smiled up at him, "And as much as I'd love to stay like this..." and then pulled away completely though she kept a hold of his hand, "You need to take off your shirt."

He blinked, that was...NOT what he was expecting from her at all, "I'm sorry?"

She smiled sadly at him, "I've gotten sharper without you here," she told him, "The Yard needed someone to notice things," she shrugged, but he saw it in her expression how badly that hurt her that SHE had had to take his place because he'd been 'dead' to the world, "You didn't honestly think I wouldn't feel you tense?" she gave him a look, one that was more her own observations than his skills peeking through, "I know all the different ways you tense, and I know what they all mean and that..." she nodded at his shoulder though he knew she meant his back, "Was your 'I'm hurt' tense."

He stared at her a moment, "You remember all of them?"

"I remember everything about you, now take off your shirt. John may be the doctor but I did fill in as nurse once or twice with him. I CAN tend to wounds."

"How do you know that I'm wounded and not sore?" he had to ask, though he was already starting to unbutton his shirt.

She was quiet a moment, before speaking so softly he almost missed it, "Because only you being held against your will and beaten to within an inch of your life would keep you from coming back to me two weeks ago," she told him, nodding to the wall beside her.

He frowned and turned his head, he honestly hadn't noticed what he saw there despite it having been right behind her when he'd entered the room. But he just...stared, openly stared at the collection of information she'd gathered. It was...everything, every single place he'd been the last two years, every news article that he had made absolutely sure NOTHING about him had been mentioned in, it was photos and red markers and pins and...everything, with a cloth of some sort hanging above it like a curtain but pinned to the side to reveal the map and information. He turned his gaze back to her, utterly impressed with what she'd managed to gather.

She shrugged, "I was bored," she offered as an excuse, one they both knew was utter rubbish, she was the one who read books when she was bored or worked on memorizing Shakespeare like he experimented with ash and body parts, "And I thought Mrs. Hudson would appreciate that more than me shooting the wall."

He smiled at her, he should have known she'd do that. She was a profiler and what she was doing had vague ties to the geographic profiling one of her associates had taught her. It was meant to use location to help explain a person, but she had used it in reverse, she'd used what she knew of the person to find his locations.

"Sherlock," she called and he looked at her, actually startled to hear her call him but his full name instead of her nicknames for him, "Your shirt."

He nodded to himself, hearing a crack in her voice and could tell she was starting to get upset that he wasn't letting her help him. He knew this was...overwhelming. No matter if she had expected him two weeks ago or two months from now, she never would have been prepared for the actual day with no warning. And as well as she was holding up to seeing him alive and before her once more...she was starting to crack. As much as he didn't want to take his shirt off as he knew it would mean she'd seen the still rather fresh bruises and cuts and wounds because he knew what they would do to her, increase the guilt he already knew she was feeling, guilt that she hadn't been there to help keep him from getting hurt...he didn't want to cause her to be more upset to refuse.

And so, he finished unbuttoning his shirt and slowly pulled it off.

"Turn around," she ordered lightly and he did so, turning so his back was to her.

He winced, hearing her soft inhale of breath, not a gasp, no, she'd seen him hurt far worse before, but...more one of guilt. He nearly shivered when he heard her approach and gently touch his bare back. It didn't hurt much, just...when he moved...or breathed. The wounds had been tended to before, but...he hadn't really wanted the doctor Mycroft had called to touch him. He'd just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible and get back to London.

"Oh Locksley," he heard her breathe, before her gentle touch was gone, "Sit on the coffee table and I'll get the first aid kit," she told, him, heading into the bathroom for it.

He did as he was told, sitting on the edge of the table and waiting, he knew what Leena was like when she saw him hurt, she wanted to fix him up herself, make sure that she knew he was all taken care of and that she had personally seen to it that he got better. It hadn't always ended the best for her, he still loathed himself for when he'd hit her so long ago while suffering withdrawal, but she never ever gave up. And...he could admit that a small part of him loved it when she did that, when she took care of him, that it reaffirmed in his mind that she truly did love him if she cared about him that much.

He'd hardly even noticed her patching him up, applying creams and ointments and bandages and gauze to his back, he had expected it to sting a bit but...he supposed his body was just too tingling already to feel the pain of anything. Leena had once told him, what felt like ages ago, that love was the best drug there was, that it dulled any sort of pain. That had been when the old woman died because of Moriarty, he'd nearly gone back to his old ways and taken morphine...when she'd stopped him, and kissed him and...he'd hadn't felt the pain again. She was like the wall that kept the pain away.

He blinked and looked back over his shoulder a moment later when he realized she hadn't touched him in a minute to see her packing up the kit again, having finished. He stood and reached for his shirt, relieved to feel he could move a bit better without feeling the painful tugs. She'd wrapped his ribs for him, having seen a bruise on his side, and he could reach now and move better than before. Which was rather good as putting on the shirt that Mycroft had secured for him and nearly driven him to his knees in pain the first time.

He turned and watched as Leena merely left the first aid kit on the table, the two of them just...looking at each other a long while, before he spoke, "What now?"

He didn't know. He honestly didn't. And that...was an alarming concept. He had known Leena nearly his entire life. He had never felt unsure around her, not THIS unsure. He'd been a bit unsure when Irene had been around, but that was more confusion and alarm, but this? THIS was uncertainty...and that had never happened to him before. He wasn't sure where they were going to go. Would she still want to marry him, even though she said she'd wait for him? Were they even still 'together' as others called it?

"Where do we go from here?" he braced himself for the worst, knowing he'd deserve it for what he'd done to her.

She seemed thoughtful for a moment before she moved up to him, her eyes locked on his, and reached out to take his hand. She tugged him gently, leading him over to the sofa and sitting him down on the end, "Right here," she told him as he sat, "Sit right there," she added, moving to sit beside him.

He turned his head to watch as she settled down and leaned closer to him, closing his eyes as he felt her wrap her arms around him gently, her head on his shoulder as she just...sat close to him, cuddled he believed was the word most commonly used. He disliked words like that but...this was Leena, everything was different when it came to her.

"Just..." she whispered and he could hear a crack in her voice, "Just...stay like this a minute or two."

He felt her lightly squeeze him and opened his eyes to see her own were squeezed closed, that she was inhaling deeply, as though trying to catch his scent. He leaned his head closer to hers, gently breathing in her own scent before he placed the smallest of kisses onto her hair, "Or forever," he remarked softly.

He watched as she opened her eyes, full of tears, and looked at him with the most heartbreakingly happy smile he'd ever seen, "I like the sound of that," she told him, looking into his eyes, trying her best not to cry but failing at it. She let her eyes drift closed when he reached up a hand to brush one tear away, "I missed you Sherlock."

"Never more than I did you," he replied, his voice deep.

And that was all it took for Leena to breakdown in his arms, crying quietly, a soulful cry of someone both devastated by events but happy for the resolution she was given. He wound his arms around her tighter, his heart somehow breaking for seeing her like that and pounding at having her back in his arms, where he was determined to keep her for as long as he could.

Forever, he swore.

A/N: I actually teared up a little writing this end scene :) I think I rewrote it about 4 times trying to get it right. I feel like being confronted with each other after no contact at all it would be overwhelming for them, and Leena would go right to a distraction of helping Sherlock with his back than to turn it into sometehing overly sappy :) I think that's so them though, the small, quiet moments :)

I'm really glad you guys are so excited for the story to be up again, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter :) And for any DW fans, I hope you enjoyed the little shoutout to DW I threw into the last chapter ;)

Some notes on reviews...

It takes a little longer to write Sherlock out for chapters because this time I had to write my own transcripts first to get everything ready for today :) But I love writing so much it's definitely more like a reward than a commitment :)

Yup, that was a little DW line I wanted to add and a little nod to Moffat ;)

I've only seen a couple episodes of Psych, but I've heard good things. From what I've seen, I agree, Shawn reminds me of Sherlock on sweets :)


	3. The Empty Hearse - Warmer Welcomes

The Empty Hearse: Warmer Welcomes

"London," Sherlock began as he started placing his own notes and pictures and maps on the wall, all of Leena's followings of him having been taken down by the two of them earlier that morning, "It's like a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminals, agents, and drifters are irresistibly drained. Sometimes it's not a question of who, it's a question of who knows? If this man cancels his papers, I need to know," he pointed at one man, standing to the side for Leena to snap a picture of him to put in her tracing program on her phone, doing the same for every picture he had up there, "If this woman leaves London without putting her dog into kennels, I need to know. I have certain people, they are markers. If they start to move, I'll know something's up. Like rats deserting a sinking ship."

Leena smiled as she looked at him, till he noticed at least and blinked.

"What is it?" he asked.

She just shook her head, "I've missed you Sherwood," she told him, using his other nickname as Mycroft was currently sitting in a chair behind them, "Hearing you talk, the way you talk…having you actually here to do it is much better than hearing you speaking in my head."

He blinked and straightened at that, a bit…startled to find that…she'd done the same. The entire 2 years he'd been away, he'd constantly heard her voice in his head, speaking to him as though she were really there. Trying to think like her, the small tidbits and other facts she'd given him over the years in terms of profiling had made quite a few cases and missions easier as he was able to spot his targets faster, thinking she was there to point them out to him. He'd even heard John's voice at times. Truly, in the last 2 years, despite being away from her, she had never been away from HIM.

It…touched him to know the same was true for her as well, that even being in their home and around his belongings, that she still kept him that close.

"I had a…mutual thought," he admitted, smiling at her softly.

"All very interesting," Mycroft cut into their moment with a roll of his eyes, "But the terror alert has been raised to critical."

"Keep on interrupting us Mycroft and my irritation level will be raised to critical which means you just might find yourself banned from the wedding," Leena remarked, turning to face him. Ever since the man had arrived, ALL he'd done was interrupt any sort of moment they might have almost had.

Mycroft scoffed, "As though you've set a new date yet," he mumbled under his breath. The date they HAD set the first time had gone and went and they were still unwed.

"Boring," Sherlock remarked, moving back to his brother and plopping down in his sofa chair, Leena coming to stand behind it, crossing her arms on the top and leaning forward to watch him make the next move in the game he was playing with Mycroft, "Your move."

"We have solid information, an attack IS coming," Mycroft reminded him, leaning forward to take his turn.

"It's not quite solid information is it though?" Leena let her one arm fall over the back of the chair, absently playing with Sherlock's hair as he leaned back in the chair to allow her more reach, "It's basics, terrorist attack, it's what they do. Attack to breed fear. There's thousands of them all over the world, they're all doing the same thing. What YOU really need is for us to identify the lead of their organization."

Sherlock smirked at that.

"An agent gave his life to tell us that!" Mycroft glared at her.

"Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have done," Sherlock remarked, his eyes closed as he just…gave himself a moment to feel Leena's fingers, she was…the only person he ever let run her fingers through his hair like that, she was really the only one who did it without hurting him, he had very sensitive hair follicles, "He was obviously just trying to show off."

"None of these 'markers' of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?" Mycroft asked as he sat back, "Your move."

Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes, leaning forward, away from Leena's fingers to make his next move.

"Not yet," Leena held up her phone, showing him the program that was running, keeping track of all the different markers and everything, their bank transactions, their schedules, she was even able to track them via the GPS in their phones, thanks to some adaptations her team in the BAU had made while she'd been there briefly, "But I've got my eye on them Mycroft."

"You have to trust us," Sherlock added, "We'll find the answer. But it'll be in an odd phrase in an online blog,"

"Which I'm monitoring," Leena nodded.

"Or an unexpected trip to the countryside…"

"Also monitoring."

"Or a misplaced lonely hearts ad."

"I get the alerts seconds after it hits," she smirked, seeing Mycroft rolling her eyes at them, he should have known that nothing would really change, that they'd both get right back into the swing of things.

Some might find it odd, how…comfortable they were with each other after so long apart, with no contact. Some might find it strange that she wasn't beaning Sherlock over the head for what he'd done. But…she HAD known he was alive the entire time, she HAD known exactly where he was with each mission. She had been aware and she knew the truth. She had known it all along and so…what point was there in being mad or angry? She'd been afraid for his safety, yes, she'd been angry he hadn't told her about his plans but…she didn't spend so many decades with him to NOT know what went on in his head. She worked out why he hadn't told her or John his plans.

Right now…she was just happy she had him back…and secretly plotting how best to get them both married before he did something like that again, because she was NOT going to lose him ever again without truly being Mrs. Holmes.

"Your move," Sherlock grinned at his brother's annoyance as well.

"I've given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you're on the case," Mycroft told them as he moved.

"We ARE on the case," Leena rolled her eyes, "But there's not much we can do till a marker deviates."

"ALL of us are on the case," Sherlock agreed, "Look at us right now."

"Oh, bugger!" Mycroft hissed as a buzzer went off and he dropped the small piece of the game of Operation he was playing, the metal tweezers had hit the side of the space.

"Whoopsy!" Sherlock smirked, "Can't handle a broken heart."

"Adds to the profile," Leena joked with a wink.

Oh she had MISSED this! She had missed this so much, being around Sherlock, even seeing him interact with Mycroft was thrilling. Whenever she was forced to be around the man she'd always heard Sherlock commenting in her head about him, snide remarks and deductions and whatnot.

"How very telling," Sherlock nodded.

"Don't be smart," Mycroft sneered at them.

Sherlock sighed, "That takes me back," before doing a rather startling impersonation of a younger Mycroft, "'Don't be smart, Sherlock, I'M the smart one.'"

"I AM the smart one," Mycroft glared.

Leena actually laughed at that, "I'll believe that when you work out what actually happened to Irene Adler," she put a mocking hand to her mouth, seeing Mycroft stiffen and look at them in alarm, "Oops," she smirked, it was all too clear to them that Mycroft had had NO idea at all that Irene was, in fact, still alive, "Good luck finding her."

"I used to think I was an idiot," Sherlock admitted quietly.

"Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock," Mycroft rolled his eyes, "We had nothing else to go on, until we met other children like Jackie."

"Oh, yes, that was a mistake…"

"Oi!" Leena laughed, not even bothered by the hidden insult.

"He did say OTHER children," Sherlock looked up at her, "You were never other anything to me."

She smiled at that, but then Mycroft had to speak up, "All of them were just ghastly," and Leena rolled her eyes at the 'all of them' meaning her as well, "What were they thinking of?"

"Probably something about trying to make friends."

"Oh, yes. _Friends_," he nearly sneered at that, "Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now."

"And you don't?" Sherlock looked at his brother, reaching out a hand to take Leena's, tugging her forward to sit on the arm of his chair, "Ever?"

"If _you_ seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish."

"Yes, but I've been away for two years,'" Sherlock countered.

"So?"

"Oh, I don't know, I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a..." he looked at Leena, fiddling with her hand, his finger tracing her engagement ring, "_Gold_fish."

"Change the subject, now," Mycroft glared, getting up.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist Mycroft," Leena rolled her eyes, moving to take his seat and resume the game with Sherlock, "Sherwood will work out the attack and I'll work out the attackers," she carefully reached in with the tweezers and pulled the broken heart out, handing the small prongs to Sherlock.

"The secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre," Sherlock agreed.

"Ooh," they heard a small clanging in the halls and Mrs. Hudson approaching.

"Speaking of which..." Sherlock murmured as the woman entered with a tray of tea for them.

"I can't believe it," Mrs. Hudson smiled, watching Sherlock pull out a kidney and hand the tweezers to Leena, "I just can't believe it! Him sitting in his chair again. Oh, isn't it wonderful, Mr. Holmes?" she already knew Leena was ecstatic about it.

She'd walked in on them earlier, not doing anything drastic or incriminating but…she'd seen it, how happy Leena was. Because she'd fallen asleep. Leena always had such trouble falling asleep nowadays, not even her famous warm milk was able to help the girl relax and doze off. And when she did, oh the first few months had been terrible with the nightmares the girl had had of Sherlock's jump. THAT was one thing she was very cross with Sherlock for, doing that to Leena, forcing her to witness that. But she forgave him, just so thrilled he was alive and that Leena would get better. She'd walked in to see Sherlock sitting on the sofa in quite the role reversal actually.

Often she would have walked in on Leena sitting on the end of the sofa, with Sherlock sprawled out on his back, with his head resting on Leena's lap as the girl absently stroked his hair as she read, the two of them just silent, but comfortable in it. This time though she'd walked up to see that Sherlock was sitting awake on the end, with Leena curled up beside him, asleep, his arm around her, just…watching her, gazing at her. It had warmed her heart because she wanted them both to be as happy as possible. And now they were.

"I can barely contain myself," Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Oh, he really can, you know," Sherlock added.

"Wrong," Leena glanced up at him through her eyelashes as she pulled out the funny bone, "He really is quite happy you're back Sherwood," and handed him the tweezers.

"He's secretly pleased to see you," Mrs. Hudson agreed as she headed off, "Underneath all that."

"Sorry, which of us?" Mycroft looked at Mrs. Hudson, aware that Leena was speaking of HIM but Mrs. Hudson he wasn't sure of.

The woman just smiled, "Both of you," she told him, "Just like you're both pleased to see Leena smiling again."

Sherlock winced as he struck the side of the metal, having not expected Mrs. Hudson to be quite so blunt about how unhappy Leena had been. He'd been able to see that the moment he'd entered the room last night. It was odd, how far he'd come since dealing with Irene. He…noticed her more, not just deduced her, he NEVER did that unless it was for them to silently communicate using their expressions. He honestly hadn't noticed how Irene had affected her because, in his mind, Irene was just…Irene. She was just like anyone else and he hadn't been able to see what was wrong with the way he interacted with her because it meant absolutely nothing to him. He regretted that the same applied to Leena, he hadn't been able to see and make the connection between the small instances he saw where she was unhappy and he hadn't understood why she'd seen anything there in the first place.

Leena had often brought it to his attention the small fault in his deductions, if he wasn't actively looking for something, he tended to miss quite a lot. Apparently she and Lestrade had been sitting right in front of him in the restaurant he'd visited Sebastian in and he hadn't even noticed them there, because he hadn't been thinking he'd see them there. It was…exactly like John the other night, he wasn't expecting to see his dead friend standing there as his waiter, so all he saw was a waiter.

But he was better now, he was aware now, and he NOTICED things about her, things he was sure John Watson would be pleased to know that he did see now. He didn't deduce her but…he noticed more. He noticed so much more now that he was back. It was like…every little detail about her just sent up signals and signs to him. He knew what it was, having not been around her for so long his mind was trying to reacquaint itself with her, with all the little details about her, it was observing more and making connections that he wasn't aware of consciously.

But he had seen it, in how she'd been sitting when he'd first arrived. She wasn't sitting in her normal reading position, where he knew she was so invested in her books that he could scarcely get her attention. No, she'd been sitting the way she always sat when she was sad and trying to use books as an escape. She'd had the bookmark on the table instead of the armrest, a sign that the book wasn't so captivating that she needed to be able to mark her page quickly. And she hadn't put up a finger to stop him talking just so she could finish reading a line or two more, she just…spoke as she was reading, she never did that.

When she'd looked up at him, it wasn't even a deduction to notice how pale she was or how thin she appeared or how tired she was. It was just…the image of her in his mind, the last happy image he had of her, it didn't fit with the girl before him. And he knew it was his fault, what he'd done to her.

He looked at Leena to see her looking down, "I win," she murmured, taking the tweezers back from him to start collecting up the pieces.

He swallowed hard and stood quickly, "Let's play something different," he said, trying to change the topic from her unhappiness. He could tell, he had been able to tell from how she looked up at him when she'd woken, how HAPPY she was that he was back.

He knew he should have expected her to be bitter, angry, hateful of him for what he'd done. But…she KNEW him, she'd had decades with him and she knew how his mind worked. She was clever as well, having spent so much time with him over the years, she had worked it out. For years she had known he was alive, she'd kept track of him through the world and newspapers, she saw what he was doing and she understood why he was doing what he was. She was cross he hadn't told her what he was going to do, that he and Mycroft had apparently planned it all, that Mycroft of all people had known, that they'd planned the entire thing behind Moriarty's plan, but…she had worked with enough profilers to know that even the slightest microexpression could have given away everything.

She knew that all too well, her team had done the same, she'd learned. She'd returned for a brief moment only to learn that the BAU had lost a team member, Emily Prentiss, but she'd only faked her death as well. Two members of the team had known about it though, had had to control every aspect of their expressions so the rest of the team wouldn't notice that they were aware the woman was alive. And she understood, Emily's life was in danger and the team had to react the way they did to convince the rest of the world Emily was gone. It wasn't just Sherlock that would be in danger if she and John didn't react just so, if they didn't appear to believe Sherlock was dead…they'd be in danger.

She understood the danger to him and them all too well, so she understood the need for her reaction to be what it was. She'd had two years to come to terms with what had happened, to sort through her feelings, to cope and understand. She knew what she was getting into when she had fallen in love with the 'highly functioning sociopath,' she knew what he was like and she knew he could be a right bastard to others.

But not to her.

He'd apologized for it, before he'd even made the jump, before he'd forced her to endure that, he HAD apologized to her. He'd given her their code, he wouldn't have used it if he hadn't wanted only HER to know about it. It had been his way of trying to tell her he'd be ok without making it too obvious. He knew she'd work it out, that she'd figure out their code, that she'd realize he was alive. She knew him better than anyone, better than even Mycroft did, and she would work it all out, all of it. She worked out how he'd survived, she'd worked out that he WAS alive, she'd kept track of him.

He was lucky she didn't hate him, and was so thankful that she still loved him. Seeing her wearing the engagement ring even after all those years…he wouldn't say it to anyone, though Mrs. Hudson had seen it. He'd spent the night with his hand on her left hand, he'd just…held it, lightly fingering the ring as though to reassure himself it was still there, she was still wearing it. It was what she had done with him, why she'd wanted to 'cuddle' on the sofa. It was overwhelming to see the man everyone kept insisting to her was dead alive once more. He didn't doubt she'd had numerous dreams of the sort, where he'd appear and come back and then she'd wake up and realize they were dreams.

He'd had the same. He'd dream, when he could afford to sleep, of her, always of her. He'd dream of himself stepping back into 221B with a number of different reactions from her. And then he'd wake up in some dingy hole in the ground place and realize he wasn't back with her. It killed him each time it happened, so he understood why there had been nothing more physical than a hug and a cuddle. She'd just…they BOTH had needed the physical reassurance of being together, with their arms around each other, and waking up to see they were STILL together.

And THEN they'd kissed.

When she'd woken up, he'd just…touched her face, needing to trace the contours of it with his hands instead of just his eyes, having been too concerned about waking her up as he knew she needed her sleep. He'd touched her cheek and she'd looked into his eyes and he hadn't been able to hold back anymore. He'd tugged her closer and kissed her gently, soulfully, just…needing to kiss her again, needing to have that last bit of physical contact to reassure HIM that she was there. Because nothing was like kissing Leena, nothing at all, no drug in the world could compare, it was like something that both dulled the pain but made him so energized and electrified his body never knew what to do and his mind would just shut down.

It had been one of the most exquisite kisses they had ever shared, the most meaningful. And he was rather…eager, more eager than he knew he would have normally felt had he not been apart from her for two years, to experience a kiss like that again.

"Why are we playing games?!" Mycroft scoffed, cutting into his thoughts and pulling his gaze away from where he'd been absently watching Leena put the game away.

"Because isn't this just another game to you both?" Leena shook her head from her thoughts and looked over at them, smiling a bit, "You both enjoy mysteries and threats like this too much."

"London's terror alert has been raised to critical," Sherlock moved over to where Leena was sitting, putting his hands on the back of the armchair, "We're just passing the time."

"And we both know you'd rather us pass it THIS way than to distract ourselves like we did in Buckingham Palace," Leena smirked, seeing Mycroft grimace, he STILL hadn't worked out that they hadn't done anything of the sort like that in the palace. They really did just LOVE to get to him and tease him about that. It was quite a bit of fun.

"Let's do deductions," Sherlock agreed, moving over to a desk and picking up a wool cap with ear flaps and bobbles on strings attached to them, "A client left this while I was out, Leena's been keeping an eye on it. What do you reckon?" he tossed the cap to Mycroft.

"I'm busy," Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"You don't have anything scheduled for another hour and a half," Leena cut in, wiggling her phone where she'd hacked into his own personal schedule, "So you might as well. Unless you'd rather I help Sherwood pass the time myself," she shrugged standing.

"I always win," Mycroft sniffed the hat, warning them as Leena smirked.

Sherlock mimicked her expression, knowing she'd said that just to get Mycroft to agree, the last thing Mycroft wanted to be aware of was their bedroom goings-on, not that they had anything like that happening. They were both going to wait, they just…had to pick a new date for the wedding first, "Which is why you can't resist."

"Adds to the profile as well," she winked at the man.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled, anxious, sentimental, unfit, creature of habit with appalling halitosis," and then he blinked, realizing what he'd just done, "Damn."

"You're as predictable as Sherwood, Mycroft."

"Isolated too, don't you think?" Sherlock had to comment.

"Why would he be isolated?" Mycroft nearly sneered, not seeing that in the hat.

"'He?'"

"Obviously."

"Why? Size of the hat?"

"Can't be," Leena remarked, she had had direct contact with the client, she knew exactly what he was like so she wasn't trying to give away much, but she could add her two cents when needed, "There ARE women with larger heads too."

"Are there?" Sherlock looked at her, seeming genuinely intrigued by that notion.

"Of course," she laughed, moving to sit back down on the arm chair, "My head could probably be deemed just slightly too big physically and…"

"Your head is the optimal cranial size," Sherlock cut in, looking at her intently, making her smile at his hidden compliment, that her head was perfect.

She really had missed that, his little subtle compliments that sounded either too much like a fact or like an insult to others, but SHE knew what he was trying to say, "Thank you Sherwood, your head is lovely too."

"And both he and the client have recently had his hair cut," Mycroft cut in as well, seeing Sherlock open his mouth to undoubtedly try to give another slight compliment to Leena, it was both heartening to see them together as though nothing had happened…and revolting to see his brother expressing such sentiment, as veiled as it was, "You can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside," he turned the cap out a bit to show them.

"It IS possible though for some women have short hair too," Leena countered to him as well, though she nearly jumped when she felt something tug at her own hair. She looked over to see Sherlock had actually come to sit on the arm of her chair without her noticing (he must have been trying very hard to do that) and had reached out to gently brush a bit of her hair from over her shoulder, letting his fingers linger in the strands for a moment.

'_What?_' she gave him a confused expression.

His eyes trailed down to her hair tips, '_Your hair's longer._'

She rolled her eyes and shot him a look that said, '_It's been 2 years._'

She saw the corner of his lips quirk up in a hint of a smile, '_I like it._'

She smiled at that and looked down, neither of them seeing Mycroft roll his eyes, knowing what they were doing, not having a clue what they were discussing but knowing that they liked to do things like that, try to have silent conversations and the like. It was irritating.

"Balance of probability," Mycroft spoke again.

Leena rolled her eyes at that, earning a small chuckle from Sherlock at her clear irritation at Mycroft's repeated interruptions. For how thrilled she might have been to have both Holmes brothers together again…she was quickly losing patience with Mycroft. She'd spent the last two years trying to be as patient as she could be, and she'd spent it ALL on those last two years. Her patience now was rather thin.

Sherlock was half tempted to try and instigate more little moments just to see how quickly Leena's patience would fade and already thinking of a number of places that he could try to hide the body after she murdered his brother.

"Not that you've ever spoken to a woman with short hair," Sherlock muttered, looking at Mycroft over Leena's head, "Or, you know, a woman."

"Stains show he's out of condition," Mycroft ignored him, continuing on, examining the hat, "He's sentimental 'cos the hat has been repaired, three, four..."

"Five times," Sherlock remarked, his gaze back on Leena as his brother looked at him, "Very neatly. The cost of the repairs exceeds that of the hat, he's mawkishly attached to it."

"Oh I think it's more than that Sherwood," Leena turned to him, smiling.

"Yes," he agreed, "One or two patches would indicate sentimentality. Five's obsessive behavior. Obsessive compulsive."

"Hardly," Mycroft scoffed, pulling their attention back just as he saw his brother lift his hand to touch Leena's cheek once more, he'd done the same to nearly everything in the flat, touched it all, the bookshelf edge, the wallpaper, the backs of the chairs, like he was trying to reacquaint himself it all, "Your client left it behind. What sort of an obsessive compulsive would do that? The earlier patches are extensively sun bleached, so he's worn it abroad, in Peru."

"Peru?" Leena turned to him.

Mycroft smirked when he saw Sherlock shoot him a glare for that particular move, "This is a chullo. The classic headgear of Andes, it's made of alpaca."

"No," Sherlock said, a bit louder than necessary, if only to pull Leena's attention back to himself.

"No?"

"Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive, if you know what you're looking for."

Leena let out a small laugh at that, "He wrote a blog on it Mycroft, 'The Varying Tensile Strengths of Different Natural Fibers."

"I'm sure there's a crying need for that," Mrs. Hudson remarked from the halls as she passed the door.

"You said he was anxious?" Sherlock glanced at his brother.

"The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed," Mycroft stated, tossing it back to Sherlock who caught it with one hand, "Which shows he's a man of a nervous disposition, but..."

"But also a creature of habit, 'cos he hasn't chewed the bobble on the right."

"Precisely."

"A sniff of the offending bobble tells us all we need to know about the state of his breath," he grimaced, sniffing it himself, "Brilliant!"

"Elementary."

"You've still missed the isolation though," Leena pointed out to the man.

"I don't see it."

"I do."

"Plain as day," Sherlock nodded.

"Where?" Mycroft scoffed.

"There for all to see," he held the hat up to Leena, looking at her.

"Tell me."

"Plain as the nose on your..."

"Sherlock stop getting distracted by Jackie and tell me!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that, he wasn't distracted by Leena, he was just…testing his brother's patience, "Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?" he countered, holding the hat up.

"Oi!" Leena laughed, "What about my 'Catwoman' hat?"

It was quite similar to that, almost identical in make except it was entirely black with little cat ears on top instead of a third bobble.

"It's not stupid," he countered, "It is merely a member of a trio of hats."

She shook her head at that, he was just saying that because his own deerstalker hat was so terrible he was trying not to make hers seem as laughable as it was often paired with his. Honestly, when the news of their first engagement had made papers, there had been so many clippings of 'Hatman and Catwoman' tying the knot that it had been just ridiculous.

"Not at all," Mycroft rolled his eyes, trying in vain to keep them both on topic, he should have expected this though.

His brother was the sort where, when he'd been away from something he wanted terribly for a time he tended to overindulge in that. He'd gone through a rather humorous phase once as a child where he'd been obsessed with sweet potatoes, eating them for dinner every night. They'd attempted boarding school and…been kicked out for their remarks against the teachers' intelligence. The school hadn't had sweet potatoes on the menu and when they'd returned home, Sherlock had eaten nothing but that for weeks! It hadn't been till he'd turned nearly orange that he'd stopped. Luckily he had been back to his original color within a few weeks, just in time for a rather small girl and her family to be introduced to their own.

His brother had always had a rather obsessive and possessive personality though.

"Maybe he just doesn't mind being different. He doesn't necessarily have to be isolated."

Leena smiled at that, "Spot on."

"I'm sorry?" Mycroft frowned, seeing them BOTH looking at him now, both with the hint of a smile on their faces, as though they'd just lured him into a trap or something they were so pleased with themselves.

"He's different, so what?" Sherlock nodded, "Why would he mind? You're quite right," he put the hat on himself, "Why would_ anyone_ mind?"

"I'm not lonely, Sherlock," Mycroft shook his head.

"How would you know?" Sherlock's expression actually turned sad as he put his arm around Leena, clearly indicating that only someone who had been lonely himself would recognize the traits in others. And both of them had been forced to be lonely the last two years. Yes, he'd been around others in other countries, she'd been around Mrs. Hudson and John, but…they hadn't had each other, and that had been lonely enough.

"I believe he was implying that if you preferred…other sorts of fish, no one would be adverse or bothered by it," Leena remarked.

"Yes," Mycroft shifted subtly as he headed for the door, not wanting to talk about any sorts of relationships with any sort of person, "Back to work, if you don't mind," he passed Mrs. Hudson in the hall as he left, "Good morning."

"Right," Sherlock sighed, looking down at Leena, "Back to work."

"One day," she remarked as he stood and held out a hand to help her up as well, "One day he'll realize what he's missing Sherwood, and one day he'll be happy too."

She knew the Holmes brothers had a rather…complex relationship. She was a profiler, she could read even their body language to a T. It was really rather interesting to see the two interacting together because, on a very, very, VERY deep level, they both DID care for each other, it just came out very differently on the surface. Sherlock saw Mycroft as the older brother who was constantly lurking about and getting in his way and trying to keep tabs on him, worrying unnecessarily about so many random things that he really DIDN'T have to worry about. Whereas Mycroft, no matter what Sherlock got into, what he had been able to handle in the past, and the man he had grown to be…still saw Sherlock as his scared baby brother who needed his protection.

It was like a vicious cycle for them both.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson called, peeking through the door as they both stood before the collection of markers.

"Hmm?"

"Talk to John."

"He tried Mrs. Hudson," Leena commented.

"Yes and he's made his position quite clear," Sherlock muttered.

"What did he say?" Mrs. Hudson frowned.

"Fuck off."

"Oh dear."

"He didn't just say that though," Leena added, absently looking at the markers, moving to look at the notes Sherlock had jotted down for one or two, "John tried to strangle him, punch him, and head butt him."

Sherlock looked at her intently for that, "How do you know?" he had to ask, because he hadn't said a thing about that entire event.

She shrugged, "There's faint bruising on your neck, small spots that are too ovalish to be anything other than fingertips, they're light so they're either very old and healing or are very recent but not overly harmful. Given they don't match the bruises on your back, they're more recent. The size of them would fit the hand shape of a man that wields the type of gun John uses. Your lip is split but there's no other cuts on your face, meaning you were hit there, the likely case would involve a punch to the face. And your nose wasn't entirely cleaned off from the blood last night, not to mention it appears a bit tender and only slightly bruised, indicating that more force was use than a mere punch, nor was the open palm of the hand used otherwise the tender spots would be in a different location, so the only thing that could use that sort of force, barring a weapon as, if the assailant had to punch you with their bare hand they had no access to weapons, it was the head…" she glanced over, hearing the room go silent, and blinked when she saw Sherlock staring at her proudly and Mrs. Hudson shaking her head, "What is it?"

"You sound just like him dear," Mrs. Hudson sighed, before she turned, "I'm going to make you all some sandwiches and give John a talking to about this," she remarked, heading for the stairs, grumbling about John hitting Sherlock on the way.

"And what's THAT look for?" she turned to Sherlock, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the wall, just realizing that she'd ended up standing on the sofa like Sherlock often did when he wanted to get closer to the picture at hand.

Sherlock just shook his head and moved over to her, standing on top of the coffee table as he just…smiled, "You sounded like me," he repeated Mrs. Hudson's words.

"Yes," she shifted, "And?"

He reached out a hand to take hers, tugging her closer as he hopped off the coffee table, purposefully unbalancing her as he pulled her forward, catching her exactly as she fell so they both landed on the sofa, him sitting on one end with her nearly sprawled out across it, though half sitting up on the edge of his lap, her arms around him from trying to get her balance during her fall.

"I find that incredibly appealing," he murmured, looking at her.

"Good," she nodded, shifting off him more, to lie down, "Then if I sound like you, you won't mind sounding like me," she reached over and picked up one of her 'Robin Hood' books and handed it to him as she placed her head in his lap.

He smiled, realizing what she was doing. They had often sat with her on the end of the sofa, reading, while he placed his head on her lap and laid there. This time, the roles were reversed, and…he hadn't been able to sit down and enjoy a book in a long while, and this was Leena's favorite story.

They DID have plenty of time to kill as they waited, and so…he cracked open the book, starting to read, glancing down periodically at the soft smile on her face.

~8~

Reading, however, could only last the great Sherlock Holmes so long though, and Leena knew it, which was why he was pleasantly surprised when the odd person or so started to drift to 221B looking for help on solving mysteries. Apparently Leena had continued to do a bit freelance investigation on her own after she'd quit the Yard, just helping someone here or there, when, she claimed, the voice she heard of him inside her head kept nagging and nagging her to find him a case because he was going mental without one and reminding her what happened last time he hadn't had one to go on…that poor pig.

She had merely taken it as a sign that SHE was truly bored if she was starting to agree with his voice in her head about it all. So she'd decided to put out adverts and things, taking on small cases and just…trying to better her own skills and observations. In all their time she had never been better than him at deducing people, she knew she never would be. But…she hadn't been able to keep from feeling like…if she'd noticed what Sherlock and Mycroft were planning earlier, she would have been able to help, to keep him from having to fake his death. That she could have had all that time to track down Moriarty's web of criminals and disband them without Sherlock needing to go there. And that was just her way of trying to improve her skills, to take on some mysteries and try to solve them like he would.

She should have known though that no matter what she wouldn't have picked up on Sherlock and Mycroft's plans. Those two…only when they worked together was it impossible for her to predict Sherlock's next moves. It was the only way Sherlock had ever been able to surprise her as a child, and as an adult, when Mycroft got involved.

But still, she had known that Sherlock would get bored quickly sitting around 221B after having been on the run and constantly moving for the last 2 years, so she'd picked out a few of the more 'intriguing' mysteries for him and called the clients in. He'd wondered briefly if they ought to call John, but knew that the man would likely murder HIM instead of help him solve the murders. Then he'd inquired if Molly might be useful, they both knew the hand Molly had had in his faking his death and he had wanted to thank her.

And, in true Sherlock Holmes fashion, the only way he could think to do so was to invite her to solve gruesome murders and disturbing mysteries…

Leena had warned him that might not be the best idea, Molly too had moved on with her life and gotten over the small crush she had on him. She'd met a nice bloke named Tom apparently, that Leena had chuckled and said she thought he'd find interesting, and they were engaged. It wouldn't do nor would it be right to drag Molly back into all this when she had just started to get over him. Molly had known he and Leena were together, of course, that was hard to miss when their engagement was broadcast all over the papers, and Leena had tried not to make things awkward or uncomfortable for Molly, to know she held a small torch for Sherlock and that the man was engaged to someone else. But Molly was a good person and had done her best to heal and move on and accept that Sherlock wasn't meant for her.

Tom had helped her, a lot. While Leena knew that his overall appearance had something to do with it, Tom had a different personality than Sherlock, and it was a step in the right direction for Molly to truly be able to move on and open her heart to others. She'd dated someone with a similar tendency to Sherlock in Moriarty, though far more 'evil' than Sherlock was. She'd moved on to someone similar to him in a different way but overall wholly different in many other ways. And she was sure, if anything ever happened between Molly and Tom that the next step for the girl would be a person completely different. It was steps in the right direction and it was showing Molly that she COULD love someone who wasn't Sherlock.

Sherlock was actually quite glad Leena had remarked that they should leave Molly to her new life, he…he really just wanted to spend time with HER. Well, with her and John, but he had missed her so much more. He'd missed John as well, but…Leena was his fiancé, John was his best friend, he cared for them more but…John he had and could go without speaking to for hours, had had done so when John had been at work and other things. But Leena…hardly an hour could go by or did go by where he hadn't thought about her, even when she'd been in America. He'd missed her so much more and, to be there with her now, just the two of them listening to clients go on about their mysteries, it reminded him of before he'd met John, of before Leena had gone to America, when it had been the two of them solving mysteries and other things.

It was…nice.

They'd dealt with a man who had been cheating on his wife and claiming that he had no idea how their joint bank account had been emptied. Well, one simple hack from Leena's program had displayed the person who had moved the money and to the new account and he'd deduced from the man's weight-loss, hair dye, and Botox that he was having an affair and given the wife a lawyer's card. Then there had been a young woman who's pen-pal had stopped contacting her, a pen-pal she'd fallen in love with. They'd both worked out rather quickly that it had been the girl's own stepfather that had been sending her the emails. Leena's hack had traced the IP address of the pen-pal to the same home as the young woman, and he'd been able to glimpse from the smirks on the man's face that he'd just been trying to break the girl's heart so she'd swear off relationships, stay at home and he could collect on her wages.

The only one that had come close to being interesting had been when Lestrade had contacted them about a skeleton they'd found sitting at a desk in an old mysterious room, still completely dressed. It had been a bust though, they'd worked out the skeleton, despite being dressed in Victorian styled attire, was only six months old, that the outfit was from a museum that had recently been sold in a fire damage sale recently as the smell of smoke was still prevalent. It had been entirely fake, but going through and actually going to a crime scene, looking at the 'body' and trying to solve the mystery…it had made him think of John and, much like how he'd heard Leena's voice in his mind quite often on his journeys…he HAD heard John's voice as well. It had happened there as well in between him and Leena examining the body.

With Leena there, he hadn't needed to hear her voice in his head any longer, but John still hadn't been there so he'd heard that one a bit too clearly and had apparently started grumbling about it under his breath. Leena had made quick work of finding out where the museum in the area that had been in a fire was, checked their websites for a display of the outfit they were looking at, and even managed to track the skeleton too.

It was completely fake, something proven even more so when they'd found a book in the dusty desk that read 'How I Did It, by Jack the Ripper.' That should have been a clue to Lestrade that it was fake, as though a book like THAT would ever just show up in a place like that…but Lestrade had been impressed, thinking it was real.

Sherlock had basically walked out at that, hesitating before popping his collar on the way, which made Leena smile to see, she loved it when he did that. But she knew that he'd been hoping John would be there, she knew it hadn't felt right for him to be solving crimes and mysteries without him, she understood, she really did. It didn't feel right to her either. John had been there for Sherlock and helping him while she'd been in America, and John had been there for her while Sherlock had been off. The man was important to the both of them and she really wanted to see John and Sherlock reconciled.

She'd gotten a few texts throughout the day from Mary about John, it appeared she'd been trying to get John to speak to Sherlock again, but John was being stubborn. Mary was on her way to Cath and John was STILL at St. Bart's debating whether to stop by and talk to Sherlock. So…she made up her mind.

She had to talk to John.

"Why don't you go on to Shilcott's," she remarked to Sherlock as they stepped out of the building Lestrade had found the body in. Shilcott was the last person on their list of potential clients for the day. Something about disappearing people in the tube.

Sherlock looked at her with a frown, "Are you sure?"

She nodded, "Mary texted me," she held up her phone, "I want to go check on something. Will you be alright?" she asked after a moment, seeing him just…standing there with his hands behind his back, "Locksley?"

"Yes," he nodded, "Of course."

She eyed him suspiciously, knowing that he didn't exactly want her to go off but that he was trying to respect that there was something she felt she needed to do. He knew she wouldn't be asking him to go on without her if she didn't think that what she had to do was important, "Keep me updated?" she put her phone away.

"Of course," he gave her another nod.

She smiled, seeing him getting more stiff and knew what was going on. She stepped up closer to him and leaned in, reaching out to gently touch his cheek and guide him to her, kissing him gently, "I'll see you in an hour Locksley," she promised him, smiling as she looked at him, giving him a wink before she turned to head off, Sherlock watching her go till she disappeared around the corner.

He wasn't happy with this, he…two years. He'd been gone for two years and he didn't want to be separated barely two days after being back, but…she promised an hour. He'd been away two years, he could handle an hour.

But the moment that hour was over, he would text her if he hadn't seen her by then.

~8~

John stepped out of a cab, looking up at 221B Baker Street, and just…stood there. He had to wonder if this was what clients felt when they approached the building, anxiety, fear, trepidation…though he doubted they had anger and murder in mind as well. Well, except perhaps Moriarty. He was fairly sure HE had had all of that in mind too, but without the fear and anxiety and all.

He sighed, rubbing his face as he just stared at the door, the knocker a bit skewed. He was torn, Mary had been encouraging him to speak to Sherlock and he'd been loathe to do it, because he knew that the likely end topic would either be him forgiving Sherlock or murdering him, and he wasn't sure which was worse. He didn't want to be forgiving with the man, given what he'd done, but…to not forgive Sherlock would mean that Leena and Mary would have to suffer that. To murder Sherlock, meant that Mary and Leena would also have to suffer that, Mary because he'd be arrested and Leena because her fiancé would be dead…again.

He closed his eyes, running a hand over them…

"You should go in," a voice said behind him.

He would deny it to the day he died just how high he jumped at hearing Leena behind him, "Jesus!" he shouted, spinning around to see her there, smiling at him…

And he froze.

She was smiling, she was actually…SMILING again. It wasn't a small one, it wasn't one she offered because she was happy for someone else, it wasn't a sad one…it was an actually happy smile, SHE was happy. He hadn't seen that smile in…two years. And now, to see it again…he should have known that Leena would forgive Sherlock where he had tried to murder the man.

"He's not in there," she added, moving over to stand beside him, looking at the door as well, "He's trying to distract himself."

"Distract himself?" he scoffed.

"You aren't speaking to him," she shrugged, "He's trying not to think about that."

John blinked, "Really? THAT's what he's trying to distract himself from?"

Leena glanced at him, "You're his best friend John," she told him, feeling comfortable with giving him that title, she and Sherlock had been friends since they'd been children, best friends, but…there had always been something more between them, she liked to think she was more than just a friend to Sherlock now, which left a rather large title open for John, "He went off for two years, facing down henchmen of Moriarty's, alone, to keep us safe, to make London safe for us for when he came back."

John looked at the door again, "I'm just…so angry he did that to us," he sighed, "I punched him…a few times."

"I know," she nodded, looping her arm through his, "I um…" she let out a small laugh, "I actually deduced Sherlock Holmes."

John had to laugh at that as well, "You deduced him? You didn't punch him too?"

"Would it make you feel better if I did?" she glanced at him.

"A bit yeah," he nodded.

"Well…I didn't punch him, I was tending the cuts and scars on his back," she added, watching him closely out of the corner of her eye, seeing him flinch and his face fall. She got the impression that John, despite Sherlock having told him he'd been after Moriarty's men, had thought that the 2 years had been easy for Sherlock, that he'd disappeared off to some island or something, and…she just wanted to subtly allude to how hard and truly dangerous those years really had been for Sherlock, "And I did kiss him…but if you'd like, I'll slap him next time we both see him."

"Thanks," John swallowed, feeling a little…bad, that he had punched Sherlock now, knowing that the man had been beaten and injured so badly that his wounds STILL needed tending even now.

"But that DOES mean you'd have to be there with me next time he's around," she reminded him, squeezing his arm.

"Yeah."

She smiled, "Want to come in and wait for him? He should be back in…" she looked at her watch, "About 45 minutes," she remarked, it having taken about 15 to get there, "I'll slap him then for you."

John let out a small laugh again, "Yeah, alright."

"Good," she squeezed his arm once more, "Come on, I'll put some tea on…"

They'd just stepped towards the building…when a man walked into John, shoving him as he passed, "Excuse you," John muttered, turning to glare at the man as he walked past.

Leena, however, was frowning when she saw a man stride purposefully around the corner before them, she knew enough from tracking the actions of various criminals over the years to know that that gait, that focus, that expression on the man's face…the shove had been planned.

"John, run!" she grabbed his hand, about to turn and pull him off, only for the man who had shoved past to appear behind her, grabbing her arm.

"Let her go!" John moved to grab the man and pull him away…when the man who had rounded the corner reached them and yanked John back, injecting something into his neck just as the first man did to her as well…

The men gently laid them down on the ground, standing over them and waiting till the drug kicked in, knocking them out.

~8~

Sherlock was…agitated. Yes, that was the word, the word was agitated. It wasn't concerned, or worried, or alarmed, or fearful, not at all. He was none of those things. He wasn't, because he was merely agitated that it had been an hour and five minutes and Leena wasn't there. He was back in 221B. It had been remarkably easy to get the information he'd needed from Shilcott, the owner of the cap he'd had Mycroft deduce, without anyone there to remark on his methods and chastise him for commenting on Shilcott himself.

He'd had to stand there and listen to the man drone on about how he worked for the Tube, in the security department, wiping footage after being cleared. It had gotten interesting though when the man had shown footage of a rather familiar man, one of the members of Parliament, getting into the last car of the train one Friday night and then, at the next station, the man was gone. All of it was done with no way for the doors to have opened and him jump, with no place he could go as it was a straight run with no side tunnels, and with the train driver having run off after being paid off. He'd wished he'd had Leena with him to run checks on her phone for him, it would have allowed him to focus on identifying the man's face instead of doing that and working out how long it took to get from one station to the other, normally 5 minutes yet the video showed it took 10 instead.

That thought alone had made him concerned, because, a quick check of his watch would show that Leena hadn't contacted him yet and it was 15 minutes till the hour was up. So he'd gone to 221B, trying to call her…she hadn't answered. He'd texted, still no answer. Mrs. Hudson hadn't seen or heard from her either and…it was now longer than an hour and Leena still wasn't there.

He was just about to give in to his concerns and call Lestrade for a missing person's report (as daft as he knew it would sound for him to be worrying after only an hour, but Leena wasn't answering!) when he'd heard a ruckus from downstairs, Mary had arrived and was shouting about someone having John…

And then it hit him, exactly what Mary could have contacted Leena about that would have her running off…John.

Leena had been with John!

"Mary?" he rushed to the stairs, heading down them as she rushed up with her phone out, "What's wrong?"

"Someone sent me this," Mary held up her phone, 'Save Souls Now! John or James Watson? Saint or Sinner? James or John? The more is Less?' "At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it's not. It's a skip code," Sherlock looked at her, his eyes narrowing at that easy recognition by her, "First word, then every third."

He looked at the words quickly, seeing their message, 'Save John Watson. Saint James the Less.'

And just as he thought his world couldn't crash down fast enough…his own phone rang and he pulled it out, his heart stopping as his message wasn't a skip code, not at all, and he knew it was just another piece of the puzzle, the one who sent that to Mary had wanted HIM to know, to notice, that she could recognize a skip code, his…his was to let him know the true danger of the situation, there was no need to be clever with him, because for him, with his deduction prowess…only a picture was needed, to him a picture said more than a thousand words.

It was an image of Leena, unconscious, somewhere dark, her face barely visible, clearly unmoving…she'd been taken as well.

"Come on!" he grabbed Mary's hand and pulled her down the stairs.

"Where are we going?" Mary gasped.

"St. James The Less, it's a church," he pulled her quicker down the stairs, his heart restarted and pounding now, "15 minutes by car," he looked around the street as they bolted out of 221B Baker Street, "Did you drive here?"

"Er, yes…" Mary turned to go get her car but he called out again.

"It's too slow, it's too slow…" he spun in a circle, frantic to try and work out what to do, he had to do SOMETHING! Leena and John were in danger, together they had to be, the sender of his message would have included a warning or some veiled hint if she had been someone else besides where John was…and now he needed to get there, he had to get there quickly, but…how!

And then he saw it…two people riding down the street on a motorbike and ran into the street.

"Watch out!" Mary gasped, "What are we waiting for?!"

"This," he held out his hand, bracing himself…as the motorbike squealed to a stop before him.

~8~

Sherlock hardly paid mind to Mary as she called out behind him, the two of them riding through the streets of London on the stolen motorbike. There was something about the text messages she kept receiving, warnings that their time was getting shorter, something else he just…couldn't focus on, not now, not when he needed to work out ways around police blockades and other side streets to get to Saint John the Less as quickly as possible. There was a warning, they had a countdown and they were getting far FAR too close to it…

It had gone off just as they pulled up to the church…to see a large bonfire igniting to life…and then the texts about heat and hot and Guy made sense…

It was nearly Guy Fawkes Day!

"Oh, my God!" Sherlock hardly waited till the motorbike had stopped before he'd jumped off it and ran through the crowd that was just standing there…despite the fact they could faintly hear two cries of help coming from within the bonfire.

"Help!" John's voice cried out.

"John!" Mary gasped, rushing after Sherlock.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock nearly froze hearing Leena's voice as well, before he shoved past the last lingering people, right to the fire, "Move! Move! Move! Move! Move!" he slammed people away, running to the burning wood and reaching out to move the pieces, not caring how hot it was, his gloves offering him slight protection.

"John!" Mary shouted, "Jackie!"

"Leena!" Sherlock shoved the wood away, the crowd just…standing there watching in horror as he and Mary tried to get the wood away, able to hear the screaming now.

"Sherlock!" Leena coughed.

"Help!" John choked.

"Jacqueline!" Sherlock saw a hand, saw the arm of her white peacoat she'd been wearing when she'd left him, and grabbed it…pulling with all his might, feeling someone…pushing her out from within, "Leena!"

"John," she winced, pulling her arm away from Sherlock and collapsing to the ground as Mary ran to her, "Get…John!"

Sherlock turned to the fire, seeing John's arm, the man trying to crawl out from inside, from where he'd pushed Leena out and grabbed him, pulling him from the fire as well, dragging him back as far away from it as he could, while Mary did the same with Leena, though more helping the girl crawl away.

Leena gasped, coughing as she fell to the ground, shaking…that was…not fun. She and John had woken up, half crushed beneath the wood of the pyre, the drug, whatever it had been, had paralyzed them partially as it wore off. They couldn't move, they couldn't call out, she couldn't even reach for her phone in her pocket to try and contact Sherlock or set off an alarm on it to alert the others. They'd panicked when they'd smelled gasoline being thrown at the wood to help it catch.

She knew though that there were other ways to kill her and John, having been at the mercy of the men, they could have easily just killed them if that had been the plan. They weren't meant to die, she knew that, they had been bait or a trap or something like a test. She didn't know what exactly, but she knew that whoever had organized this had gotten in contact with Sherlock and that he would practically fly there for her and John.

She'd been right.

"John…John can you hear me?" she looked over, hardly able to get up, to see Mary trying to rouse John and managing it slightly, at least he was ok.

"Leena!" she felt Sherlock grab her and hold her before she could actually register he'd called out to her, "Jacqueline, are you alright…say something!"

She swallowed hard and looked up at him, realizing two things blearily…the first was that she was sitting on the ground, propped up against Sherlock as he held her, and the second…she was likely not going to remain conscious for long given the black spots in her vision.

"Amazing…isn't it?" she rasped.

"What?" he breathed, shaking his head, staring at her not-with-tears in his eyes, none at all, no.

"How fire…exposes our priorities…" she murmured…before her head lulled to the side, against his chest.

Sherlock let out a breath and pulled her tighter, knowing she was alright but just…exhausted from the experience…he felt dead on his feet as well. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead, not seeing Mary looking over as he closed his eyes and tilted his head, resting it against hers. Mary smiled at the sight, he may not understand much...but it was clear to anyone he understood Leena.

Sherlock though, couldn't help but thing how funny it was that things he'd said so long ago came back to him through Leena.

But she was right, yes…it WAS amazing how fire exposed priorities…

She was his priority.

Always

~8~

Sherlock was actually starting to wish he hadn't faked his death, or at least experienced a fake one, as he sat in 221B Baker Street having to endure the worst torture imaginable…

His mother and father had come to visit.

He had had to live decades WITH them and had finally thought he'd escaped them…but they kept sucking him back in, exactly like Mycroft did. Apparently they were in town for a show that Mycroft had promised to take them to…well, not exactly MYCROFT, but a rather touching email had been sent from Mycroft's account to them offering a showing of Les Mis. Mycroft had no idea who could have possibly sent that email, it was untraceable…

Sherlock and Leena knew better, it had been a 'gift' of sorts from her to thank him ever so much for letting her know Sherlock was alright and NOT dead. She was still cross about it even if she knew why he'd done it. The Holmes parents had come running at the chance to spend time with their boys and were currently visiting. Leena had been THRILLED to see them, he was being entirely serious about that, she really was so happy to see them again, she'd always thought of them as a second set of parents growing up. While she had a close relationship with her own parents, her father especially had less of a qualm with making the business trips for the partnership he had with Mr. Holmes, she didn't see him much and her mother felt very out of place in England, unable to adapt as well as she had. She'd spent so much time with the Holmes family that he was sure his parents had come to look at her as a daughter even before they had begun a relationship together.

Leena wore a necklace, a locket that he had given her for Christmas ages ago, it was his mother's it was something she had actually given him to give to Leena when she went to America, but…he hadn't been able to. It felt more like a too-final parting gift and so he'd just remarked he'd have a gift for her when she came back. Her arriving earlier had thrown off his plans slightly but he'd still given her the locket. His mother had nearly cried when she'd seen Leena wearing it, which only emphasized that his parents had not had much contact with Leena in the two years he'd been away either, he knew they hadn't attended his 'funeral' among other things.

And now he was forced to sit there, listening to his mother ramble on while Leena listened attentively to the woman, his father just nodding along as his mother went.

"…which wasn't the way I'd put it at all," his mother laughed, "Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing. I said, 'Have you checked down the back of the sofa?'"

"He always did seem to lose everything down the back of the sofa," Leena agreed with a smile.

"And it's just got worse," his father laughed.

"Oh, yes," his mother sighed, "Keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his glasses."

"Glasses."

"Blooming things. I said, 'Why don't you get a chain, wear them round your neck?' And he says, 'What, like Larry Grayson!'"

"Larry Grayson!"

Leena laughed, she'd missed that, the Holmes parents were always such a joy to talk to, and she loved listening to them talking even if Sherlock hated it. He found them boring and tedious, she found them refreshing and just…remarkable.

"So did you find it eventually?" Sherlock stood suddenly, making his way over to them and stepping on the coffee table to step onto the sofa between them, looking at the markers on the wall, "Your lottery ticket?"

"If you'd been listening Sherwood," Leena shook her head fondly at him, "She was explaining how they'd found it, meaning they DID."

"Thank goodness for it," his mother chuckled, "We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see St Paul's, the Tower, but they weren't letting anyone into Parliament. Some big debate going on."

"They're discussing Anti-Terrorism acts," Leena explained gently to the woman.

But before more could be said, they looked over as the door opened and John nearly entered the room, "John?" Sherlock blinked, not having expected John to appear.

"Hello John," Leena smiled.

"Sorry, you're busy," John started to move back.

"No, no, no, they were just leaving!" Sherlock cut in, Leena shaking her head as he jumped at the chance to get rid of his parents, literally…he'd just jumped off the sofa and pulled his parents to their feet and was currently pushing them towards the door.

"No, oh, were we?" his mother asked as she was shoved on.

"Yes."

"No, no, if you've got a case..." John tried to be polite.

"It's not a case John," Leena stood, moving to follow Sherlock to the door and try to offer his parents at least a small apologetic goodbye for his actions.

"Yeah, go," Sherlock continued to push.

"We're here till Saturday, remember!" his mother called.

"Yes, wonderful. Just get out!"

"Yes, well, give us a ring."

"Very nice, yes, good. Get out!"

He moved to slam the door, only for his mother to put her foot in it, stopping it, "I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time, people thinking the worst, and all those terrible remarks about Leena," Sherlock's jaw tensed at that, but this was his mother…she was, quite literally, the only one he couldn't snap at for calling her HIS name for Jacqueline, "We're just so pleased it's all over."

"Ring up more often, won't you?" his father requested.

"Mm-hmm," Sherlock moved to try and shut the door once more…but his father put his foot in the door to stop him this time.

"She worries."

"Promise?" his mother whispered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked back at Leena, '_They won't go if you don't_,' was all her expression said.

He sighed and turned back, "Promise," he muttered under his breath, "Oh, for God..." he scoffed when his mother beamed, and attempted pushing them out completely a third time.

"Goodbye Leena dear," his mother called, waving, both her foot and her husband's in the doorway.

Leena smiled and walked over to the door, taking Sherlock's place at the door as he headed into the room, "I'll talk him round to dinner, just the four of us," she whispered to Mrs. Holmes before winking and closing the door again.

John blinked and looked between Leena and the door, and then to Sherlock, "Sorry about that," was all Sherlock muttered.

"No, it's fine," John shook his head, watching as Leena moved over to the window to watch the two leave, Sherlock sitting down in his armchair instead, "Clients?"

"Just my parents."

John stared at him, "Your parents?"

"In town for a few days."

"Your parents?"

"Mycroft apparently promised to take them to a matinée of Les Mis," Leena smiled, waving out the window as she saw them getting into a car.

"Tried to talk me into doing it," Sherlock added.

John half-rushed to the window as Leena stepped away from it, staring out at the car driving off, "Those were your parents?"

"Yes."

"Well...that is not what I..."

"What?" Sherlock looked up at him as Leena moved over to sit on the armrest of his chair.

"I mean, they're just so...ordinary."

"It's a cross I have to bear," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Oh Sherwood they're not _that_ bad and you know it," Leena nudged him.

"They're so…" he shook his head, trying not to insult his parents in calling them 'not smart' or anything.

"Remarkable," she supplied, but he scoffed, "If not for them, standing beside you, no one would know how brilliant you really are then, would they?" she continued, making him consider that, "One need just talk to them to realize how incredible YOU are, yes?"

He started to smile at that, thinking of it in that context…he supposed his parents DID make him seem even more brilliant…

"Did they know too?" John cut into their thoughts.

"Hmm?" Sherlock glanced at him.

"That you faked your death," Leena added, "And speaking of…I AM sorry about this Sherwood…" she reached out and slapped him, not quite as hard as she could, not even really managing to do it effectively as she was sitting too close and John knew she didn't REALLY want to slap him but was doing it just for him.

"Ow!" he winced, "What was that for!?"

"Sorry," she reached out, gently touching his cheek that was starting to get a bit red, "I promised John I'd do that as, apparently, kissing someone who fakes their death is not the proper reaction to learning they're alive."

Sherlock looked at her, confused for just a moment as to why she was insisting she'd only JUST learned he was alive when he was aware she'd known since he'd faked his death…till he realized she didn't want John to know. He could understand that. HE had faked his death and John was furious with everyone who knew about it. He'd be incredibly angry with Leena if he found out she'd known, even if she hadn't been told, and…he didn't want that for her, he didn't want John's ire turned on her either.

He looked over at John, "Satisfied?" he gave John an unamused look.

"For now," John nodded, letting out a breath as he realized why the Holmes parents hadn't been at the funeral.

"I see you shaved off your furry little friend," Leena remarked, steering the conversation away from talk of his faked death and onto his lack of moustache.

"Yeah," John shrugged, shifting, "Wasn't working for me."

"Wasn't working for anyone John."

"I'm certainly glad," Sherlock mumbled.

"You didn't like it?" John looked over, he'd guessed as much but Sherlock hadn't outright said anything.

"No, I prefer my doctors clean-shaven."

Leena had to laugh at that, "That's not something you hear every day."

Sherlock shook his head and glanced at John, "How are you feeling?"

He knew that Leena had been a bit sore after her experience with the bonfire, she'd had a terrible cough for quite a few hours, and slept the better part of the night, though he'd heard her mumbling under her breath something he could only assume was about his jump as she kept say 'don't do it, Sherlock please…' over and over.

"Yeah, not bad," John shrugged, "Bit smoked."

"Smoking can kill you," Leena jested.

John nodded, the three of them falling quiet, silent, as they thought on the events of just the night before, "Last night, who did that?" John looked at them, turning to Leena, he didn't even have to ask why they'd targeted him and Leena, there was only 1 reason to target the both of them, to get to Sherlock.

Leena glanced at Sherlock a moment, the man eyeing her a moment, seeing…something in her look that told him it wasn't just HIM that someone had been trying to get too. He'd seen it in Leena's expression when he'd told her about how he'd even been alerted to where she was, how he'd only gotten a picture but Mary had gotten a text. He'd seen her expression flash when he'd mentioned that MARY had gotten a message as well.

But the question was…why would they want to make Mary aware of anything?

He knew there was something that Leena knew, something she hadn't said yet given all that was happening, and something that she couldn't say in front of John.

"I don't know," Sherlock admitted, frowning when Leena shifted beside him, unnoticed by John.

"Is it someone trying to get to you through us?" John continued, "Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?"

"I don't know," Sherlock repeated, "I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous. Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange."

"Give his life?"

"Or so Mycroft says," Leena sighed, turning back to John, thinking about all that Sherlock had told her about the terrorist cell. The only problem with a cell was that it was hard to determine if it was the entire cell that was active and would need profiling, or if it was the leader they had to watch out for, it made it hard to pin down without more evidence. There were different reactions and actions for a group dynamic as opposed to a leader.

"There's an underground network planning an attack on London, that's all we know," Sherlock sighed, getting up and heading to the wall, looking at the different photos and clippings, "These are my rats, John."

"Rats?"

"His markers," Leena explained, moving to sit in the armchair instead of getting up to join Sherlock, something that John seemed to notice.

He knew what she was doing though, he'd seen his mother do it briefly when he'd returned from war, when he'd stayed with his parents for just a month or two. His mother had been so terrified when he'd gone off, she'd been so scared that he'd die. She'd been so scared that, when he returned home, she'd been overjoyed. He'd seen her, at times, late at night when he'd sit up and talk to her, not wanting to sleep because of the nightmares. He'd sit there and she'd stay up with him, and when he finally retired, more so that she would go to sleep even if he wouldn't sleep, he'd peek back when she thought he was gone. He'd see her get up and move to where he'd been sitting, just…needing the warmth and the lingering scent of him to remind herself and prove to herself that he was really there, that he was physically back and not some ghost or dream she was having.

"They're the ones he's keeping an eye on," Leena continued, "The accomplices, the members of the cell. All of them are the ones most likely to do something slightly corrupt, and if any of them deviate from their normal routines…"

"Then you know they're doing something suspicious," John nodded.

"Five of them are behaving perfectly normally," Sherlock agreed, "But the sixth..."

John frowned, squinting across the room at the markers, at the man from the video of the train, "I know him, don't I?" John frowned.

"That's Lord Moran," Leena nodded, "Peer of the Realm. Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the Establishment."

"Yes!" John pointed at her.

"And he's been working for North Korea since 1996."

"What?" John scoffed.

"He's the big rat," Sherlock nodded, "Rat number one. He's just done something very suspicious indeed."

"Here," Leena reached over, handing John her phone with the video of the train on it, it was quite a small screen, but you could see everything clearly on it, "If you look closely enough…he just disappears."

"Yeah," John frowned as he watched the man disappear, "That's odd. There's nowhere he could have got off?"

"Not according to the maps," Sherlock walked over to them, taking a seat beside Leena as she took the phone back and watched the video herself once more, "There's something…something…something I'm missing. Something staring me in the face…" he looked down at his phone as it buzzed, seeing photos from one of his homeless network of Moran on the move.

"Any idea who they are, this underground network?" John inquired, "Intelligence must have a list of the most obvious ones."

But Sherlock just smiled, holding out the phone to Leena to see, "Our rat's just come out of his den."

Leena frowned and took the phone from Sherlock, flipping through the photos of Moran outside Westminster Station and her eyes widened, looking up at Sherlock, "You don't think…" she blinked, both of them realizing what might be happening.

Poor John though was still trying to puzzle over which terrorist cell it could be, "Al-Qaeda? The IRA have been getting restless again, maybe they're going to make an appearance…"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded, nearly jumping up as he started to pace, "Yes, yes, yes! I've been an idiot, a blind idiot!"

"Not quite a surprise there," Leena murmured jokingly, thinking of how long it had taken him, well, both of them, to really admit that they cared for one another.

"What?" John frowned.

But Sherlock was on a roll, "Oh, that's good. That could be brilliant!"

John rolled his eyes and looked at Leena, "What's he on about?"

"Mycroft's intelligence is not nebulous at all, it's specific, incredibly specific!"

"Jacks?"

"Jacks?" Sherlock rounded on them at the name for Leena.

"It's been two years of people calling me Jackie," Leena reminded him, "You can't expect that it hasn't been shortened by at least one person. It took you two _weeks_ of calling me Jacqueline Angelique before you called me Leena."

"Well your name was ridiculously long," Sherlock defended.

"That was only because you insisted on being so formal," she countered.

"It wasn't because I was being formal."

"No?" she scoffed.

"I liked saying your full name."

Leena blinked and started to smile, she really did LOVE it when things like that happened, when little slips like that came through, usually she had to talk to him back and forth for quite a while just to get things like that to happen, "Did you?"

Sherlock straightened, as though just realizing what he'd admitted, even though they knew each other for so long…they both learned little things about each other every day, "It…had a nice sound to it."

She got up and moved over to him, taking his hand, both of them ignoring the fact that John was still standing there, "I actually prefer Mrs. Holmes, to be honest," she murmured, "I think THAT sounds far nicer, don't you, Mr. Holmes?"

He smiled at her, "I do, Mrs. Holmes."

"Unless you've picked a date and would care to share," John cut in, "I'd really like to know what terrorist cell is about to try and attack London!"

Leena had to laugh when she saw Sherlock's jaw clench at that, now he knew how SHE felt when Mycroft kept interrupting them, though she doubted that Sherlock would really kill John like she fully intended to kill Mycroft.

"It's not an underground network, John," Sherlock told him, "It's an _Underground network_!"

"Right," John nodded, before shaking his head, "What?"

"They're literally using the tube John," Leena told him, pulling out her phone to look at the video of it again, watching it intently, now that she knew it was more the underground than anything else, she watched it more intently, "There!" she shouted, pointing at the screen and showing it to Sherlock, "Count the cars…"

"Cars?" Sherlock looked at her, with a small smirk, recalling how Shilcott had explained why they were cars and not carriages and so on.

"Just count," she told him, pointing at the cars as they passed.

Sherlock took the phone from her, his eyes widening as he saw what she had, "Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face," he muttered, "Seven carriages…"

"Cars," Leena corrected.

He rolled his eyes, "Seven CARS leave Westminster and only six arrive at St. James's Park!"

"Ah, but that's, I mean, it's impossible," John took the phone from Sherlock to see himself.

"Not really," Leena shook her head, absently leaning against Sherlock, "Moran didn't disappear, it was his car that did. You said the driver was paid off," she pointed out to Sherlock, "SO he had to have diverted the train and then detached the last car."

"Detached it where?" John frowned, "You said there was nothing between those stations."

"Not on the maps," Sherlock started to nod, "But once you eliminate the other factors, the remaining thing must be the truth. That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere."

"But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?"

Leena reached out and took her phone back, quickly scrolling through the maps she had stored, already working out where it was and why it was there, with her memory…she had maps galore stored in her head, but there was something she needed to prove to them first, and to do that she needed a physical map, "Just think, what lies between St. James's Park and Westminster? What does Lord Moran have a hand in?" she looked up at them, "Why was there a fireworks party going on last night?" she shook her head, "You _know_ what today is."

"November the..." John began, before his eyes widened, as did Sherlock's, "Oh, God!"

"Parliament," Leena turned her phone around, "Parliament lies between those two points. And it's Guy Fawkes Day."

"Lord Moran, he's a Peer of the Realm," Sherlock worked it out, "Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight, there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism bill. But he won't be there, not tonight. Not the 5th of November."

"'Remember, remember the fifth of November, the gunpowder treason and plot," Leena recited, "I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.'"

~8~

It hadn't taken them long at all to discover a semi-station in Sumatra Road, one that had closed before it ever opened. Leena had run a search for the rail schemes, all the blue prints of every station that had been built in that area, and found a sort of a ghost-platform of sorts. There was meant to be a station there, platforms had been built, staircases, everything except the station on the surface…and it was right beneath the Palace of Westminster.

And so they were on their way to the underground to try and find it, because they could only assume a bomb had been placed under the Palace of Westminster, a homage to Guy Fawkes to try and blow it all up on the fifth of November.

"There's a bomb, then?" John asked as they walked down the stairs to the underground stations, "The tube carriage is carrying a bomb."

"The tube car," Leena corrected lightly as she walked on Sherlock's left, John on his right.

"Must be," Sherlock nodded.

"Right," John sighed and pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Leena glanced at him.

"I'm calling the police."

"What?" Sherlock frowned, "No!"

"Sherlock, this isn't a game, they need to evacuate Parliament!"

"John, it'll be alright," Leena reached out behind Sherlock to take John's hand a moment, squeezing it, "We can stop it all happening and not cause a national panic."

"The police'll get in the way, they always do," Sherlock grumbled, "This is cleaner, more efficient," he headed right for a door in the side of the wall, pulling out a small crowbar from his coat pocket and breaking the small lock off of it.

"And illegal?" John guessed.

"Could never resist a locked door," Leena smiled, "Either of us," before she pulled the door open and slipped through.

"What are you doing?!" John hissed.

Sherlock just grinned back at him, "Coming?" before he too turned and just headed after Leena, John following along moments later, following them down and down and down to the lowest level…right to the mysterious platform…but there was nothing there, "I don't understand."

"Well, that's a first," John remarked.

"Try and ask him something in Old English," Leena countered with a playful nudge, "He doesn't understand that either."

"No one would," John pointed out.

"There's nowhere else it could be," Sherlock muttered, having not heard them, as he looked around…only to catch sight of a twist in the rails, a tunnel, "Oh!" pointed, rushing to the edge of the platform.

"What?!" John shook his head, "Hang on, Sherlock...what?" but Sherlock just jumped down to the rails, "That's…isn't it live?"

"They're fine if you don't touch the sides," Leena waved him off, heading to the edge, Sherlock helping her down, making her squeal a bit when he half-picked her up to jump beside him, "Like Operation."

"Of course, yeah, avoid the rails," John scoffed, "Great!"

"This way," Sherlock took Leena's hand, leading her off as John sighed and hopped down behind them.

"Are you sure?" John called.

Leena held up her phone, her GPS flashing, that they were getting closer to right under the Palace…only to look up and stop, "Thought as much," she murmured, turning her torch up to the shaft, making the others look up where there were small packets affixed to the sides.

"Demolition charges," John remarked.

"They'll only go off once they've been triggered by the explosion," Leena said, hoping that was true, "We have to stop the bomb."

"There," Sherlock pulled her on, seeing a lone train car sitting in the middle of the rails. They quickly made their way into the car, looking around but…there wasn't anything there. It was just…a typical train car.

"It's empty," John frowned, "There's nothing."

"Isn't there?" Sherlock moved over to a chair, lifting the seat of it to reveal a bomb underneath it, "This is the bomb."

"What?"

"The entire car _is_ the bomb," Leena explained, moving to more seats and lifting them as well, seeing more bombs there too.

Sherlock knelt down and began to feel the floorboards, pulling up a bottom panel…to see the largest bomb of them all, the only one with a small digital counter on it, 2:30 staring up at them, clearly the main bomb.

"We need bomb disposal," John breathed.

"I…don't quite think there's time for that," Leena remarked, quickly pulling out her phone and trying to run a search on anything she could to try and dismantle the bomb. It was…oddly enough…not the most ridiculous thing she'd ever had to try and look up on the internet through her time with Sherlock. But she knew it was the least likely to get any sort of useful result.

"So what do we do?"

"I have no idea," Sherlock swallowed, staring at the bomb.

"Well, think of something!"

"Why do you think I know what to do?" Sherlock looked at him, Leena moving to the side and trying to scroll as fast as she could for something, anything they could use.

"'Cos you're Sherlock Holmes, you're as clever as it gets!"

"It doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb! What about you?!"

"I wasn't in bomb disposal, I'm a bloody doctor!"

"And a soldier, as you keep reminding us all!"

"Oi!" Leena cut in, "Shouting at each other isn't going to help us disconnect this bomb," she shot them both a look.

John, for his part, tried to take a calming breath, "Can't...can't we rip the timer off, or something?"

"That would set it off," Sherlock shook his head.

"You see, you know things!" John pointed at him.

"That's because I told him that," Leena remarked, "And clearly, I'm trying my very best to find something as well because they don't exactly teach you how to diffuse bombs when profiling…" she paused, seeing the timer on the bomb start to count down, "Criminals."

"My God!" John stared.

"Er..." Sherlock turned away, trying to see if there was anything in there that they could use to help.

"Why didn't you call the police?! Can you just...why do you never call the police?!"

"Well, it's no use now!"

"So you can't switch the bomb off?! You can't switch the bomb off and you didn't call the police!"

Sherlock swallowed, "Go," he turned to Leena, grabbing her hand, "Go, now. You and John…go now!"

Leena just blinked at him, "I'm NOT leaving you."

"Jacque…"

"Do not make me handcuff myself to you Sherlock, because you know I will!" she snapped at him, using his full name, "I am NOT letting you leave me again!"

"There's no point now anyway," John argued, not wanting them to have a lovers tiff in the middle of a bomb going off, he needed them BOTH to focus, "Because there's not enough time to get away and if we don't do this, other people will die!"

"What about your Mind Palace?" Leena turned to him.

"What?"

"Yes!" John pointed, "Use your Mind Palace!"

"How will that help?"

"You've salted away every fact under the sun!"

"And you think I've just got 'how to defuse a bomb' tucked away in there somewhere?!"

"Yes!"

Sherlock considered it a moment, before nodding, "Maybe," and closing his eyes, going to his Mind Palace to try and figure it out.

"Jacks what about you?" he looked at her, "You've got that memory thing…"

"I've seen bombs and what they can do to people," she shook her head, already knowing what she knew about bombs, what she remembered of them, "I can identify types of bombs but I've no idea how to actually defuse one!"

"Think!" he rounded on Sherlock, "Think, please think. Think!"

Leena let out a breath when Sherlock's eyes opened, his eyes wide and fearful, "You don't know, do you?"

"No," Sherlock swallowed, looking at her.

"Oh, my God!" John gaped at him, the horrible truth hitting him, "This is it."

"Um, er..." Sherlock dropped to his knees, reaching in and around the bomb as it continued to count down, trying to feel around it, find something to help.

"Oh, my God!" John turned around, pacing, before spinning back to Sherlock, "Turn that off. Oh, God!"

"Er, um, er..." Sherlock froze a moment, before looking up at John and Leena, "I'm sorry."

Leena blinked, frowning slightly at that…that was…not Sherlock's typical reaction to 'we're about to die' situations. That was NOT how he reacted when he truly thought they were about to die in mere moments. She knew, she'd been in quite a few situations like that where he genuinely and truly thought that they were both going to die…and this…was NOT what he usually did.

"What?" John shook his head, staring at him.

"I can't…I can't do it, John. I don't know how. Forgive me."

Leena turned around, her hand to her mouth, trying to help Sherlock along, working out what he was doing, and knowing that she would NOT be able to control her microexpressions this time and if John saw…he'd figure it out too. She had to give the impression that she really thought they were going to die as well…and she had to do it quickly. Turning her back, hand to the mouth, that was usually what men assumed meant was a woman being upset.

Hopefully it would help Sherlock get what he was trying to get from John.

"What?!" John shouted.

"Please, John," Sherlock looked at him, tears in his eyes, "Forgive me, for all the hurt that I caused you…"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, this is a trick!"

"No."

"Another one of your bloody tricks."

"No."

"It's not John," Leena murmured, her back to them.

John swallowed, shaking his head, not wanting to believe it, "You're just trying to make me say something nice."

"Not this time," Sherlock stated.

"It's just to make you look good even though you've behaved like..." he let out a breath, "I wanted you not to be dead."

"Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for. If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't be standing there and...you'd still have a future, with Mary. Leena," he looked at her, his expression so…guilt ridden that John was actually starting to believe that this really was real, "Leena would…" he couldn't even finish.

"Yeah, I know," John whispered, "Look, I find it difficult. I find it difficult, this sort of stuff."

"I know," Sherlock looked back at him, his eyes pleading…

And John broke, "You were the best and the wisest man that I have ever known. Yes, of course I forgive you."

John looked over as Sherlock reached out for Leena's hand…and closed his eyes…waiting for the blast…

~8~

_Anderson sat, completely enraptured, as he listened to Sherlock telling him the truth of how he'd survived. He'd completely lost it when a little group that he'd put together, 'the Empty Hearse' as he called it, a group for people who all thought Sherlock was alive to gather, got texts that Sherlock was alive, sent out by Leena he could only assume. He knew she had been behind the 'Wrong!'s that had popped up on all the phones during the Study in Pink incident. He'd tried to get Sherlock to come and record, for all the world to see, that he was alive, that HE was not crazy, and to explain how he'd done it. Because he needed to know which, if any, of his theories were correct or even close to what had happened._

_Sherlock had, surprisingly, appeared, with Leena though, which explained how the man had been convinced to come. And there they were, sitting on his sofa, Sherlock with his arm absently around Leena's shoulders, as the man explained what had happened with Moriarty._

_"The criminal network Moriarty headed was vast. Its roots were everywhere, like a cancer, so we came up with a plan. Mycroft fed Moriarty information about me. Moriarty, in turn, gave us hints, just hints as to the extent of his web. We let him go, because it was important to let him believe he had the upper hand. And then, I sat back and watched Moriarty destroy my reputation, bit by bit. Leena, of course, would never let that go undefended for long," he smiled at her, "So we, without Mycroft knowing we were doing it at the time, recorded all the evidence we could to broadcast and clear my name when it was over. I had to make him believe he'd beaten me, utterly defeated me, and then he'd show his hand. There were 13 likely scenarios once we were up on that roof. Each of them were rigorously worked out and given a code name. It wasn't just my reputation that Moriarty needed to bury. I had to die. But the one thing I…didn't anticipate was just how far Moriarty was prepared to go," he frowned, thinking of how Moriarty had taken his own life, how that had meant he'd actually had to go through with it and fake his death, "I suppose that was obvious, given our first meeting at the swimming pool. His death wish. I knew I didn't have long. I only had time to contact my brother to initiate the Lazarus plan, and set the wheels in motion. And then everyone got to work. It's a trick. It's just a magic trick. It was vital that John and Leena stayed just where I'd put them and that way their view would be blocked by the ambulance station. John, unfortunately ran for the hospital…so I had to stall, I had to wait till he was too far away to see. There was an airbag, you see, I needed to hit it when I jumped, which I did. Speed was paramount. The air-bag needed to be got out of the way just as John and Leena cleared the corner and the station. But we needed John to see a body, him being closest. That's where Molly came in. Like figures on a weather clock, we went one way, John and Leena went the other. I knew John's concern for Leena would make her his prime objective the moment he saw her, distracting him long enough for me to switch places with the corpse on the pavement. The rest was just window dressing. And one final touch, a squash ball under the armpit. Apply enough pressure and it momentarily cuts off the pulse. Everything was anticipated, every eventuality allowed for. It worked perfectly."_

_Anderson just blinked, "Molly. Molly Hooper? She was in on it?"_

_"You remember that report I gave you?" Leena looked at him, "Of the memory retrieval I did with Claudette, of the man who looked like Sherwood? Moriarty would have never left him alive where Claudette could spot him and identify him again, so that meant there had to be a corpse that looked like him._

_"Clever."_

_"Molly told me how she found the body, faked the records," Leena continued, "Sherwood apparently provided the other coat."_

_"I've got lots of coats," Sherlock smirked._

_"What about the sniper aiming at John and Leena?" Anderson wondered._

_"Mycroft's men intervened before he could take the shot. He was invited to reconsider."_

_"And your homeless network?"_

_"As I explained, the whole street was closed off. Like a scene from a play. Neat, don't you think?"_

_"Hmm..."_

"_What?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed._

_"Not the way I'd have done it."_

_"Oh, really?"_

_"No, I'm not saying it's not clever, but..."_

_"What?"_

_"Bit...disappointed."_

_"Oh. Everyone's a critic," Sherlock rolled his eyes._

_"Don't be cross Sherwood," Leena reassured him, "Philip here also thought you'd been rescued via TARDIS," she nodded at the wall, where all his theories on how Sherlock had survived were posted, one very small sketch of a blue police telephone box stuck up among them._

_"Anyway, that's not why we came," Sherlock looked at Anderson._

_"No?" the man frowned._

_"No, I think you know why I'm here, Phillip."_

_"'How I Did It, by Jack the Ripper?'" Leena gave him a look._

_"Didn't you think it was intriguing?" he looked at Sherlock hopefully._

_"Lurid," he corrected, "A case so sensational you hoped I'd be interested. But you overdid it, Phillip. You and your little fan-club," he stood._

_"I just couldn't live with myself, knowing that I'd driven you to..."_

_"But you didn't. You were always right, I wasn't dead."_

_"No," Anderson nodded as Leena stood as well, "No, and everything's ok now, isn't it?"_

_"Yeah," Sherlock remarked dryly, "Yeah. Though, of course, you've wasted police time, perverted the course of justice, risked distracting me from a massive terrorist assault that could have both destroyed Parliament and caused the death of hundreds of people…"_

_"Sherwood," Leena shook her head at him, a small smirk on her face, Sherlock was doing exactly what she had done, give him just a bit of his own medicine in the pain he'd caused them both for the hand he'd had in what happened with Moriarty._

_"Oh, God!" Anderson gasped, burying his face in his hands, "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Sherlock! I'm so sorry…" before he realized something, "Hang on. That doesn't make sense," he got up and turned to his wall, looking at all his notes, "How could you be sure John and Jacqueline would stand on that exact spot? I mean, what if they'd moved? And...how did you do it all so quickly? What if John had looked over at you instead of her? And anyway, why are you telling me all this?" he scoffed, "If you'd pulled that off, I'm the last person you'd tell the truth to! Sherlock Holmes…" he turned, about to ask them himself…only to see that they'd slipped out mid-rant and left him alone._

_And then Anderson completely lost his mind as he turned, cackling like a madman, and began to tear his various theories off the wall._

~8~

"John?" John heard Leena ask moments after the car should have exploded.

He cracked an eye open to see that they were still all there…the timer was paused, flickering through two numbers…with ample time to spare, "You..." he looked at Sherlock, murderous.

"Oh, your face!" Sherlock laughed.

"Utter..."

"Your face!"

"You!"

"Your face really is quite funny John," even Leena had to chuckle.

"Totally had you!" Sherlock agreed, getting up.

"You cock!" John snapped, "And you!" he pointed at Leena as she held up her hands in surrender, "You helped him! Oh I knew it! I knew it! You..."

"Oh, those things you said, such sweet things," Sherlock continued, "I never knew you cared."

"I will…I'll kill you if you ever breathe a word of this..."

"Scout's honor," Sherlock smirked.

"...to anyone! You knew! You knew how to turn it off!"

"No," Leena shook her head, "He didn't know, but he worked it out."

"There's an off switch," Sherlock nodded, gesturing to the side of the bomb where there was, of all things, a small toggle switch, "There's always an off switch."

"I suspect terrorists would need to be able to cancel things if plans changed," Leena shrugged.

"How did YOU know that he'd shut it off though?" he frowned at Leena, HE hadn't had a clue, none of them had been that focused on the bomb to notice.

She smiled, "That wasn't his normal 'we're really about to die' response."

John blinked, "He actually has a response like that?"

"Oh yeah," she nodded, "It's simple, really. He holds my hand."

"What?!" John shook his head, he'd seen Sherlock hold her hand loads of times.

"He reaches out, and he holds my hand, he hugs me and just…holds me close and tenses like he's expecting the worst. This time…he just looked at you and asked forgiveness."

"And you let me go through all that?!"

She shrugged, "I'd really rather have you both resolve all this, like Mary does," she remarked, "It really WOULD be awkward to talk him," she nodded at Sherlock, "Round into a 'double date' and then have you both trying to kill each other all night."

"I didn't lie altogether," Sherlock added, "I've absolutely no idea how to turn any of these silly little lights off," he started laughing.

John looked over, seeing flashing lights from down the tunnel, two armed police officers with 'bomb' written across their fronts rushing towards them, "And you _did_ call the police?"

"Of course I called the police," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "As though I'd risk Leena's life like that."

John's eyes narrowed, "I'm definitely going to kill you!"

"Oh, please," Sherlock smiled, glancing at him, "Killing me, that's so two years ago."

"But if you do," she took Sherlock's hand and tugged him to the door so they could get out and let the squad do their job, "Could you wait until _after_ the wedding this time?"

John just stood there, shaking his head as they stepped out of the car and into the tunnel, letting the police enter.

"You know…it's a good thing you worked out how to stop the bomb," Leena remarked as they watched the squad disappear in the car, John remaining in there to watch, clearing wanting at least one of them to have some idea of what to do if this ever happened again, "I'd have hated for us to scar John."

"Scar John?" Sherlock scoffed, turning to tug her on, down the tunnel to get back to the platform, "How would we scar John?"

Leena smirked, "Let's just say…I am NOT going to die without having _known_ you, Locksley," before laughing as Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, making her pause and look back at him over her shoulder, "What?" she asked innocently.

"You shouldn't tease your husband," he warned her, his eyes mock-narrowing, "That could be…dangerous."

"Well then, good thing I don't have a husband yet," she challenged.

"You will do one day," he warned her, stepping closer to her.

"And what day will that be?" she looked up at him.

"Soon," he whispered, reaching out to touch her cheek, "I promise you Jacqueline, soon," he murmured, before leaning down and kissing her, pouring his promise into the kiss.

Soon, it would be soon.

~8~

Sherlock and Leena headed down the stairs of 221B Baker Street the next day. It had been…a bit crowded in the flat above them what with everyone being there. They'd been celebrating Sherlock's return in a way. Lestrade was there, with Mrs. Hudson and Mary and even Molly and her fiancé Tom had shown up. Sherlock had been distracted by a phone call from Mycroft, begging him to take over for him during the performance of Les Mis, but Sherlock had refused. The press had been getting rowdy outside and they'd decided it was time for him to confront them and give the story of how he'd survived and what he'd just done to save London.

It had been…quite interesting to pass the commotion in their sitting room, Mrs. Hudson asking Mary when she and John would wed, they were thinking of a Spring wedding, perhaps May, but there was still a lot of details to work out. Leena had laughed at everyone's reactions when Mary asked if Sherlock would be there at the wedding and he'd responded that weddings were not really his thing. Everyone had just stared at him until he'd asked what was wrong and John had reminded him he was MARRYING her.

They hadn't gotten to respond to that when Molly arrived and Sherlock beat a hasty retreat at seeing who this 'Tom' person was. A man who quite resembled him, tall, thin, long coat, sort of suit as an outfit, with a scarf…a boy who also seemed to wear his collar up and his hair curly. He…hadn't quite felt comfortable knowing Molly was engaged to a man that looked something like him and had tugged Leena out of the flat.

"Where is it?" Sherlock asked Leena as he put his coat on when they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Where is what?" she countered, nonchalant, as she buttoned up his coat for him.

"You _know_ what," he gave her a look.

She glanced at the stairs, knowing John would be coming down any moment, "I can't give you Mary's file now Locksley," she warned, pulling her white pea coat on.

He knew it. Of course he knew. Leena was a remarkable judge of character, had to be for her profession, she was almost as good at reading people as he was, almost. But he knew she'd gleam enough from Mary that she was a liar, he knew that knowing her longer than he did that she'd gather even more that didn't fit the persona Mary gave off. And even despite that, Leena would do her digging on anyone that John grew that serious about as to marry them. She had likely hacked, searched, and traced her way through Mary's entire life, the fact that she had a file about the woman just confirmed it.

"There's…quite a few things you need to know about 'Mary,'" she continued, the emphasis on her name making him frown, knowing instinctively it meat that as NOT her real name, "But I can't tell you till John's left."

Sherlock nodded, looking over as he heard John coming down the stairs, "Did you..." John was pointing back up them, clearly indicating Tom.

"I've been warned not to say a word," Sherlock remarked, turning to grab his blue scarf off the rack.

"No, best not," John smiled, knowing Leena had likely warned him that, "But I'm still waiting."

"Hmm?" Sherlock looked at the scarf in his hand before turning to Leena and placing it around her neck securely, it was…it was just a bit chilly outside. It had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to see her in his scarf. Granted it was actually HER scarf that she'd let him keep when she'd gone to America, but it had been his for years so…it was his.

"Why did they try and kill me and Jacks?" John asked, "If they knew _you_ were onto them, why come after us? Put us in a bonfire?" he could guess why they'd go after Leena, her being his fiancé and all, but why go after HIM when they knew, if they'd been watching to see Sherlock was back, he and Sherlock were at odds?

"I don't know," Sherlock remarked, "I don't like not knowing. Unlike the nicely embellished fictions on your blog, John, real life is rarely so neat. I don't know who was behind all this, but I will find out," he looked at Leena, "I promise you."

She smiled, "I know you will."

John, though, scoffed a bit, "Don't pretend you're not enjoying this."

"Hmm?" Sherlock looked over at him.

"Being back. Being a hero again."

"Don't be stupid," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "There's only one person whose hero I aspire to be, the rest of the world can shove off."

Leena shook her head at that, "You don't need to aspire to be Sherwood, you ARE my hero. Always have been, always will be."

"You'd have to be an idiot not to see it though," John continued, "You love it."

"Love what?" Sherlock looked at him.

"Being Sherlock Holmes."

"I don't even know what that's supposed to mean."

"It means…being the absolute, most amazing man on the face of the Earth," Leena nudged him, reaching past him to take a black 'cat hat' off the rack and slip it on.

"Sherlock," John called as he turned to the door, "You _are_ going to tell me how you did it? How you jumped off that building and survived?"

"You know my methods, John," Sherlock glanced back at him, "I am known to be indestructible."

"Well Superman," John rolled his eyes, "I'm fairly certain your kryptonite was standing right there when it happened," he nodded at Leena, "But seriously. When you were dead, I went to your grave with Jackie..."

"I should hope so."

"I made a little speech. I actually spoke to you."

"I know. I was there."

Leena smiled, literally, he was RIGHT there.

"I asked you for one more miracle. I asked you to stop being dead."

Sherlock looked back at him, "I heard you," he told the man, "Anyway," he turned to the door, only to see Leena holding up his deerstalker hat.

"Catwoman needs her Hatman," she smirked at him.

He let out a soft laugh and took it, "Time to go and be Sherlock Holmes," he remarked, sticking it on his head as he opened the door and stepped out to face the press and photographers, John and Leena on either side of him through it all.

Just as it was meant to be.

A/N: Can I just say how excited I am for tomorrow :) The Sign of Three chapters were my favorites to write ^-^ I hope you all enjoyed this chapter though :)

For anyone reading my Merlin story, that chapter will, unfortunately, be up in a few hours :( Issues with editing this chapter postponed editing that one and I'm going to attempt doing it in work before my boss arrives :)

Some notes on reviews...

Lol, the kiss had to wait just one day, mostly because I feel like both Sherlock and Leena would need to make sure the other was real first and not just some dream they were having :) There'll be plenty of kisses to come ;)

Aww, thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying the stories and Leena's dynamic in this one :) I just try my best :)

I hope you enjoy the rest of the HOTS ;) And I'm glad you're liking this story so far :)

I'm glad you got to see the first episode :) I live streamed it when it was on, through combom, and then watched/got all the episodes after through searching the episode with 'putlocker' in google :) I'm not sure if I'll follow Irene, mostly because I'm debating getting rid of my twitter, I haven't been on it as much as I'd hoped I could try to be :(


	4. The Sign of Three - Praises

The Sign of Three: Praises

The day had finally come!

And Leena couldn't be more thrilled for John and Mary, they were getting married today! It had been quite a while in the makings, she'd helped Mary and John plan…as had Sherlock, surprising John quite a bit. He'd actually pulled her aside once and asked her why Sherlock was being so supportive and so…helpful. He'd suspected drugs first and then he'd suspected that she'd asked him the dreaded 'please' to get him to help out with the wedding plans. She'd had to laugh at that and say that, ever since he'd asked Sherlock to be his best man, made him aware that HE wasn't the only one who considered John a friend, that he'd just…wanted to be a good one.

She'd told him about what it had been like, to grow up with Sherlock Holmes, to see how the other children reacted around him and Mycroft, her as well because of her fierce attachment to them. It hadn't been easy, Sherlock, for all his bravado in seeming unaffected…he had wanted to make friends when he'd been younger. But when he'd seen how much they enjoyed taunting him…how much pleasure they got out of picking on her for being with him, he'd decided they were unnecessary. She suspected it was also his way of protecting her as well, the less people that were close to him meant the less people who could get close to her and hurt her to get to him. She'd explained that he TRUSTED John with her, as could be seen by him leaving for 2 years, that he trusted John with her life. And that meant John was one of the best friends Sherlock had ever had.

It had actually surprised her that she'd had to tell him that in the first place. John had always been the more observant and understanding of human action whereas Sherlock seemed to favor cold facts and logic. But she'd just made him aware that, once Sherlock Holmes considered you a friend, he would go to the ends of the earth to see you protected and happy. And Mary made him happy, marrying Mary would make him deliriously happy, and so Sherlock was trying his best to make sure that their wedding went smoothly.

It had been both nice and a bit saddening to help Mary and John plan their wedding. It had been nice because they'd gotten to help their friends, and…in doing so…learn more about 'Mary' while also learning the intricate details of the wedding plan. They knew the seating, the venues, the people coming, all of which would make it easier to ensure nothing went wrong. But it was also saddening because…in helping John and Mary, they hadn't had much time to plan their own wedding. They hadn't even set a date! They briefly chatted about it, at first, when they'd been talking to John and Mary about what their thoughts were for the wedding, how they wanted to do it.

Mary had asked them what they'd had in mind when they'd actually been planning it earlier, times had changed though. But their tastes hadn't. She'd smiled and just sort of waved it off, saying she and Sherlock had always wanted a very small affair, just their absolute closest friends and family to be there. Somewhere small and quiet. They didn't want to give much time between invitations and the actual wedding, that they were both agreed on, with all the various enemies Sherlock had made, and even a few SHE had made along the way, it was best to have the shortest time possible so as not to give their enemies a chance to strike. It had only been a brief, passing remark though before she'd forced Mary to focus back on herself and her big day.

Not that it hadn't stopped Mary from trying to compare the weddings every chance she got. It amused Mary, it appeared, to look at how different they all were in tastes yet how well they all fit together as a sort of four square. She and John were planning a day wedding, in a church, a sort of lunch type reception, with quite a few friends and even distant family. The colors were light, lavenders, and yellows, and pinks. The wine was light, the food airy, flowers everywhere. Leena and Sherlock though were more of a nighttime wedding, dusk, with the stars out, outside in a small gazebo or some other structure, neither she or Sherlock were very religious. John and Mary weren't much that sort either, but they'd both found god in various things, Mary in being a nurse and helping the sick and injured, and John in Afghanistan. She and Sherlock had yet to find any such deity, not that they were godless, but they just…weren't large in the religious area, any religion really. They would have had a dinner style wedding, in Autumn, with a bit of a chill in the air. Mary thought it was because Leena had found a gown with long sleeves that would have been lovely for a more wintery wedding…John knew it was because then Sherlock would have an excuse to stand at the end of the aisle in some sort of longer formal coat with his collar turned up.

It really was quite interesting how different they were yet all for the same celebration.

And speaking of the celebration, she just couldn't wait to get there! It started in only a few hours, but Sherlock wasn't quite ready to leave 221B just yet. They'd both woken bright and early, having just a few small little details to sort out before they could head out to the wedding. They were currently working on one at that very moment.

"Shut up Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock called the moment the door opened and Mrs. Hudson entered with a tray of tea.

"Sherwood play nice," she chastised lightly, a smile on her face as he turned her sharply in their dance. Yes, they were dancing, waltzing really, across the floor of 221B to a rather lovely violin melody that was playing over a speaker. It was a song he had composed for John and Mary's first dance as husband and wife, a surprise for them, and they were just going through it once more to see if there were any snags or little moments that didn't flow properly for a waltz.

It was flawless though, in her opinion at least, she didn't doubt Sherlock when it came to his violin, he was just exceptional.

She blinked and looked up when she felt the lightest kiss pressed to her forehead, and gave him a confused look, '_What was that for?_'

He just smiled at her, "I'm glad you like the song," he whispered in her ear.

She shook her head at that, she'd let her expressions slip again. He'd probably seen her lost in thought, her expression far too obvious for him to ignore or try not to deduce.

"I haven't said a word!" Mrs. Hudson called, not hearing him, as she walked over to place the tray down on a small table.

"You're formulating a question," Sherlock rolled his eyes, sighing, "It's physically painful watching you thinking."

"Sherwood don't make me kiss you senseless again," Leena warned him, pulling away with a final flourish, spinning right to the speakers and turning them off as the song fell to a close. She glanced back at him to see him looking at her with his too-sharp gaze, and smiled. She had actually taken to doing that when he was too insulting to Mrs. Hudson, or when he was on the cusp of being so. Like when he'd gone through a bit of a rough patch before Baskerville and tried to find his cigarettes, he'd nearly insulted Mrs. Hudson terrible and she wouldn't have that, so she'd essentially snogged him right up against the fireplace till his mind shut off and left him like that.

She was actually starting to think he might be attempting to be even MORE insulting because of that. Which was both counterproductive yet enormously fun for her.

"I thought it was you playing," Mrs. Hudson remarked.

"It _was_ me playing," Sherlock grumbled, moving beside Leena and placing a hand on her back as he jotted down one or two more notes on a piece of sheet music sprawled out before them, "I am composing."

"If you KEEP composing, I'll have a hard time keeping track of the right song for MY part," Leena nudged him, turning away to go sit on the armchair he often occupied.

Sherlock turned, leaning against the table as he watched her go. This was becoming a sort of routine for them as well, a sort of…cat and mouse game that was slowly starting to reach maddening levels. He was actually LOSING, something he rather hated to do. But Leena was always one step ahead of him, as impossible as it sounded, which he had to admit, DID make some sort of sense as it had been her who first initiated this game of theirs. It wasn't really a game though, it was more like…trying to see who would crack first. She would get close to him, touch him in little intimate ways, sometimes alone, other times in public, just to see what he'd do, to see if he'd say anything. And right when he started to move closer, she'd move away, and go sit down, or stand by the window, or greet someone else.

He'd be left there to watch her, and stew that she'd walked off. He knew she was doing it on purpose, a sort of minor punishment for leaving for 2 years, a teasing little thing, but…it was starting to drive him mad. Every time he reached out for her she stepped back, walked off as though she hadn't noticed. Not every time and THAT was what infuriated him, he could never guess when she'd let him touch her and when she'd slip out of his hold with that devilish smirk on her face and taunting look in her eyes.

If she kept this up, he was sorely tempted to handcuff her to him, and then he could only imagine the theories Mrs. Hudson would come up with then.

"You were _dancing_," Mrs. Hudson corrected, pouring the tea.

"I was road-testing."

"You what?" she glanced at him.

"It's his way of making sure the music sounds well enough to dance to," Leena explained, taking a cuppa from her with a grateful nod.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock demanded of Mrs. Hudson.

"I'm bringing Jackie her morning tea," Mrs. Hudson stuck her nose up, being sure to emphasize LEENA in her remark. It had been a tradition for them, in the months after Sherlock had died, she'd always try to bring Leena morning tea, hadn't always managed it, something about going into 221B unsettled her. But Leena would come down and they'd talk over a cup or two in the morning before she'd head to the Yard or go back upstairs.

Now that Sherlock was back…she didn't have as much a problem being in the flat once more. She actually rather loved coming up to it now, especially to bring them both morning tea. She felt, as terrible as it was to say, that the two years away had done Sherlock good. He'd come back a different man, she could tell, everyone could. They did say distance made the heart grow fonder and it was almost like Sherlock was now aware of just what he'd had that he'd taken for granted before everything had happened.

She expected as much though. He'd been completely cut off and on his own for years, without Leena or John with him, without even being able to speak to them or see them…he'd come back and he just…appreciated them more. He appreciated the life he had more now. She couldn't count the times that she'd come in to leave the tea and seen Sherlock NOT awake. She'd been so used to walking into the flat two years ago and seeing Sherlock up and about, hardly sleeping or resting, his mind too active, him too bored and doing endless experiments.

Now though…she could walk in with the tea and find them both asleep on the sofa, cuddled up though Sherlock would never admit to it…which was why she'd managed to snap a picture or two on that rubbish phone Leena had gotten her to use, with one of those little camera things in them. She'd see them asleep on the sofa or actually sleeping in the bed, always with Sherlock's arm around her, his head tilted towards her, the two of them just so…peaceful.

She'd never seen him so peaceful before.

"You're not usually awake," Mrs. Hudson remarked, shaking herself out of her thoughts.

"You bring us tea in the morning?" Sherlock glanced at her as he moved to his armchair, standing behind it in a position quite similar to how Leena had stood when Mycroft had come to visit just after he'd returned, his arms crossed and resting on the back of it.

"Well, where d'you _think_ it came from?!" Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes, handing him a cup too.

"I don't know. I just thought it sort of _happened_."

"He thought the tea fairies brought it," Leena giggled, looking up at him behind her.

"Your mother has a lot to answer for then," Mrs. Hudson took a cup for herself and sat down in John's chair.

"Mm, I know," Sherlock sipped his tea, "I have a list. Mycroft has a _file_."

"And I've got a mental tab going for both," Leena rolled her eyes, she'd listened to them complaining for decades, she'd actually SEEN the files, it was ridiculous the amount of things on it.

"So!" Mrs. Hudson grinned, the excitement just palpable, "It's the big day, then!"

"_What_ big day?" he took another sip.

"The wedding Sherwood," Leena laughed, shaking her head.

"Yes, John and Mary getting married!" Mrs. Hudson cheered.

"Two people who currently live together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday and then carry on living together. What's big about that?"

Mrs. Hudson looked at him, "YOU'RE about to get married as well Sherlock," she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes, "No I'm not."

Mrs. Hudson frowned and nearly looked like she was about to have a heart attack at that…till Sherlock continued, "I'm already married."

"You eloped!?" Mrs. Hudson gaped at them.

"No!" Leena laughed, having to set her tea down to keep from spilling it all over herself, "No, not eloped…"

"But then…how are you…"

"He's talking about when we were 10," Leena rolled her eyes, "We did a fake wedding, Sherwood likes to think we've already got it over with and that we'll just be…renewing our vows."

"A fake wedding?" Mrs. Hudson blinked, before letting out a breath, recalling the little children she saw playing in the parks at times, having little fake weddings with their ringpops and things, "Oh thank the lord," she laughed as well, "You had me worried Sherlock."

Sherlock scoffed at that, "Leena prefers to think of our next wedding as the real one though," he countered, "Even then," he shrugged a moment, "We've practically lived together since we were children, we've gone on holiday together with our families, I've been committed to her since we were children, putting that down on a piece of paper won't change anything either."

"Marriage does change people though," Mrs. Hudson remarked.

"No it doesn't."

"Well, you wouldn't understand 'cos Jackie's been there since the start," Mrs. Hudson countered, "You wouldn't know any better how it is for others."

"Your husband was executed for double murder," he scoffed, "You're hardly an advert for companionship."

Mrs. Hudson's lips pursed at that, opening her mouth to say something, when Leena held up her hand and turned in the armchair so her legs were dangling off the side and she could see both Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson, "And my fiancé is a highly functioning sociopath who solves murders as an alternative to getting high," she lifted an eyebrow at him, a small smile on her face, "Care to comment?"

"Well you've clearly the capacity to handle a relationship such as that," he countered.

She shook her head at his compliment, "Because I've learned to over the years Sherwood, I changed the way I acted at times, just like you've changed as well."

"I have not."

SHE scoffed this time, "When we first met you would rather listen to nails on a chalkboard than music…and yet you went through an Elvis phase."

"Well that was…"

"And you were more keen to recite the periodic table than Shakespeare," she continued, "Until I got you Yorrick," she nodded at the fireplace where the skull was still sitting.

"It's a human skull!"

So she pulled out the one card she knew would work, "And if I were to say please…"

"Oh alright, fine," he huffed, moving to plop down on the arm of the chair, on the end, wedging her legs lightly behind him, between his back and the chair, "Yes, I've 'changed'," he used air quotes, "You've made your point."

Leena smiled and sat up more so she could lean closer to him and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, "Thank you," she smiled, sitting back, looking at him softly as he smiled at her too.

"You see," Mrs. Hudson smiled as she watched them, "Marriage changes you as a person, in ways that you still can't imagine."

"As does lethal injection," Sherlock murmured under his breath, till Leena nudged him with her knee.

"My best friend, Margaret, she was my chief bridesmaid. We were going to be best friends forever, we always said that, but I hardly saw her after that."

Sherlock stood up, "Aren't there usually biscuits?"

Leena looked at him sadly, knowing where his mind had gone. Mrs. Hudson wasn't helping the reassurances she and Mary had been trying so hard to ingrain in Sherlock, that nothing would change just because John was getting married, as equally as nothing would change just because THEY were going to get married as well one day. He had said himself, John and Mary already lived together, nothing would change for them. It was the same for them as well, they'd been together around each other for so long…it really would be like just putting it down on paper and wearing rings to symbolize it. She and Mary had been trying hard to convince him that nothing was going to change for him and JOHN though, that they'd still be off solving murders with Leena though…she had vaguely tried to remind Sherlock while Mary was there that perhaps Mary could handle being involved in things like that as well.

Sherlock would look at her and she'd give him a meaningful look about that implication and he'd slowly nod, as though recalling what they both knew about Mary. Everything. They knew everything about her, absolutely everything, every detail of who she really was. Searches and hacks into the system and traces could tell you SO much about a person. But equally Leena knew, from interactions with Mary, who she really was as a person, deep down. And that was why they hadn't said anything to John or Mary about what they knew. John and Mary were happy, and Mary genuinely loved John very much. Mary was also quite obviously trying to escape something in her past and they were not about to drag that to the surface, especially not while she had been working on wedding plans.

"I've run out," Mrs. Hudson sighed, making them both look over at her.

"Have the shops?" Sherlock asked.

"She cried the whole day, saying, 'Ooh, it's the end of an era.'"

"I'm sure the shop on the corner is open…"

"She was probably right, really. I remember she left early. I mean, who leaves a wedding early? So sad."

"Mmm. Anyway, you've got things to do…"

"No, not really. I've got plenty of time to…"

"Mrs. Hudson," Leena cut in before Sherlock could snap at the woman, she could see him getting tenser and tenser, and she knew that he really just wanted to talk to her alone and Mrs. Hudson wasn't seeming to get the hint, "Could you please check if the shop down the street has Sherwood's biscuits? He's on the verge of a tantrum."

"Leena!" Sherlock frowned at her.

Mrs. Hudson just sighed and got up, "I really am going to have a word with your mother," she remarked to Sherlock as she walked out.

"You can if you like," he called after her, "She understands very little."

"She understands more than you think Locksley," Leena took the last sip of her tea and set it down, "You should give her more credit than that."

He rolled his eyes, and looked at John's chair, Leena eyeing him until she stood and made her way over to him, slipping her arm through his, "Nothing will change Sherlock," she whispered, "John is just as important to me as he is to you, and we're important to him too. Mrs. Hudson…she and her friends, hell any friends in the world haven't had the experiences we've had, they haven't been able to bond like we did. Near death experiences tend to forge the strongest bonds of friendship, unbreakable bonds. This isn't the end of the story Sherlock, it's the start of its sequel."

He nodded, listening to her and took her hand, "Right then," he murmured, leading her toward the bedroom, their bedroom, where their outfits for the day were waiting for them to don them and head to battle.

~8~

The wedding had been just lovely, truly wonderful, and everything had gone just according to plan. Mary had looked lovely in white, John dapper in his uniform, Sherlock, of course, had been dashing in his formal attire. Leena was wearing a very tasteful lilac gown as she and Sherlock walked behind John and Mary out of the church, fulfilling their duties as Best Man and Maid of Honor. The second that they were out of the church the crowd erupted in cheers, throwing rice and flower petals over the happy couple, Leena clapping and cheering behind them as Sherlock stood stiffly beside her, though even he had a small smile on his face.

"Come on Sherwood," Leena laughed, tugging Sherlock off to the side when she saw the photographer preparing to take photos of just the bride and groom, the two of them just watching everyone else, Lestrade and Archie, the little pageboy that had taken a shining to Sherlock, and Molly with Tom, a few other friends hanging around. She spotted one of Mary's other friends, Janine, who was laughing with her own date.

It had nearly been awkward, when Mary had selected HER to be the Maid of Honor over Janine, who'd been her friend for years. But when Janine had been introduced to Sherlock and warned that he was the Best Man…and he'd deduced her as an attention seeking woman who used too much of her looks as a basis for relationships…well, Janine had been rather relieved that she wasn't paired up with the man.

Leena shook her head as she felt Sherlock stiffen beside her, not used to being around so many happy people that he hadn't insulted just yet, this wasn't his…niche, he preferred small groups and quiet and this was…not what he was used to. She linked her around through his and squeezed, "Will you do ze zing for me Locksley?" she asked, putting heavy emphasis on her accent, making him look at her sharply, his gaze locked on hers, seeing her smiling playfully, a sparkle in her eye, and felt himself starting to grin as well, "S'il vous plait?"

"Fine."

"Oui?"

"Oui," he nodded, looking around, "Pick someone."

She smiled widely and nodded to a guest, "Ze man in blue."

Sherlock looked over, eyeing the man critically, "Recently divorced doctor with a ginger cat, a barn conversion, and a history of erectile dysfunction."

Leena grimaced at that, dropping her accent, "Didn't need to know that last one."

"Sorry," he glanced at her, "There was one more deduction there than I was expecting."

She just squeezed his arm, "I know how you get when you're deducing people," she nudged him, "Deduce away."

He looked at her, "Are you sure?"

She just winked, "You are amazing Locksley. Truly fantastique!" she laughed, "Who am I to deny you your fun after putting you through all the planning for this?"

If she hadn't known better, she'd have thought his grin was positively evil as he turned to look at the guests.

~8~

"Shh!" Sherlock hissed to Leena as they headed into the reception after having helped John and Mary greet all the guests, she was still laughing about a poor man, David, and his reaction to them. The man was ridiculously uncomfortable when he'd stepped up to greet Mary and congratulate John, especially when he'd seen them both standing there smiling at him. He'd clammed up instantly.

They'd met David before the wedding, it had been one reason they'd gotten so involved in the planning, to be able to screen the attendees. It was one part wanting to see just how many people knew Mary and how long they'd known her for…none of them longer than five years. It was another part wanting to try and work out who felt what for her and who would work well with other guests and where to sit them…

And a third part wanting to speak to those who had a bit too much of an attachment to the woman and ensure they wouldn't pose a problem for John.

Dear old Dave had fallen into that last category.

They'd met with him briefly, only once really, once was all that was needed to get their point across. It was truly remarkable how one visit to 221B in a slightly dimly lit room and a serious expression could make a fully grown man uncomfortable. He thought he'd come there to learn about being an usher for the wedding, the man had nearly jumped at the chance to be a part of the ceremony even like that. Too quickly, according to Leena, and Sherlock trusted her judgment when it came to others and their interactions.

It hadn't taken all that much to get through to the man and warn him away from Mary. Bring up his past interactions with Mary, how he responded to her tweets and cropped her Facebook photos…and then expressly tell him he was only going to be able to meet her, planned, 3 times a year with John there and let him know they'd be watching him. Well, Sherlock would be watching him, whereas Leena could hack into his bank records and wouldn't it be horrible to find all his money transferred to a random charity?

He'd called them both psychopaths for that, which Leena had to admit was a first for her.

Sherlock, of course, responded with his typical, 'high-functioning sociopath' remark, though he added the extra flair of 'with your number' just to unnerve him. Leena had just laughed and reminded him she was the fiancé of the sociopath and what did that say about her?

David had nearly wet himself they were sure of it, both times, meeting them there and also at the wedding once more.

But that was only part of the reason she was laughing so hard, little Archie, the pageboy, had been attached to Sherlock. Literally, had attached himself to Sherlock via a tight hug, something that was out of character for him, according to his mother. But he'd just latched right on, something John had never ever thought he'd see when it came to Sherlock Holmes…a child actually wanting to hug him.

The last child that had gotten involved with Sherlock had screamed bloody murder at him.

Leena and Mary shared a secret look at that, Sherlock had won the boy over with photos of the murders he'd solved. Archie hadn't wanted to wear the suit or do what they'd wanted him to as pageboy, but when he'd asked to see some pictures of the murders for compensation…well, Sherlock was ready to agree to anything to get the boy to do as instructed.

That and he truly saw absolutely nothing wrong with showing a small boy images of bodies hacked to pieces.

What had shocked Mary though, was that Leena hadn't seen anything disturbing about that either. Leena had just reminded her later, when she'd explained that Archie would do as he was told, that SHE had seen murders like that in the papers when she'd been a girl, she and Sherlock had started very early with their own investigations. Archie didn't have her memory, over the years the images would fade where hers were everlasting…and she'd turned out just fine. She'd turned out to be the one who helped stop the murders, who helped work out what sort of person it took to do something like that.

She'd actually been right there as Sherlock showed Archie the photos, the two of them impressing the young boy quite a bit with how Sherlock could deduce the crime scene and victim while she told him all about the criminal at hand. One more promise of beheaded individuals and Archie would have done cartwheels down the aisle if he'd had to.

"Say cheese!" the photographer called as they stepped into the reception room, Sherlock rolling his eyes at that, his good nature dimmed by the flashing of the camera, the small moment of thought ruined, before the man ran off to take more photos of the guests.

Leena smiled, "Come on," she tugged him off across the hall, past John and Mary who were eating some canapés, Mary starving for them as Leena knew she'd been on a bit of a diet to fit in her dress, and over to the middle of the room so he could have a better view of the guests, "The waiter," she nodded at a passing one.

"Traces of _two_ leading brands of deodorant," Sherlock sniffed, "Both advertised for their strength, suggestive of a chronic body odor problem manifesting under stress."

"And the cook?" she gestured to one of the other waiters pulling a skewer out of a roast beef.

"Long-term relationship, compulsive cheat. Waterproof cover on his smartphone. Yet his complexion doesn't indicate outdoor work. Suggests he's in the habit of taking his phone into the shower with him, which means he often receives texts and emails he'd rather went unseen."

"And what about…" Leena trailed off, her eyes wide, "Him…" she breathed, seeing a man in a decorated uniform step into the room, his face a bit scarred, burned really, his one arm hanging beside him near uselessly, "Oh my god," she murmured, "I knew he'd come."

Sherlock eyed the man intently, not even needing to deduce him to know who he was, a man he'd looked up during the wedding planning, a man that John had insisted would come despite him not having RSVPed. He took Leena's hand in his as they walked over to Mary, the three of them watching as John saluted the man and started to speak to him quietly.

"So that's him," Sherlock remarked, "Major Sholto."

"Uh huh," Mary nodded.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed a bit, "If they're such good friends, why does he barely even mention him?"

"He mentions him all the time to me. He never shuts up about him."

"About _him_?"

Leena rolled her eyes at that, knowing Sherlock was a bit jealous that John spoke so highly of the other man. But she knew he had a good reason to, the man had been one of his commanding officers, he'd been one of the men to be there for John IN Afghanistan. He'd wanted the man to come so badly and she was really happy that he had. She'd tried to get his sister, Harriet, to come, but…Harriet had refused, because of the open bar. That was something she hadn't told John about.

She'd been in talks with 'Harry' communicating with her over the two years, trying to help her with her alcoholism. She'd just…she'd needed to help John in some way, try and pay him back for all he'd done for her in being there for her when Sherlock had been gone. She knew he'd be furious to learn Sherlock was alive and she'd just wanted to try and help him with his sister. She'd gone to meet the woman, tracked her down, followed her financial transactions and purchases to get an idea of how bad her alcoholism was, quite bad really, and gone to meet her. She'd told John she was visiting family, and she was, John was like family to her. And she WAS visiting family…just not HER family. She'd met Harry…and been slapped by the woman, but she'd dealt with someone in the throws of addiction before…

And punched her as well.

Harry had been shocked to say the least that someone had fought back during her 'violent' outbreaks. So she'd taken the chance and stormed into the woman's house. Harriet had been so drunk at the moment that she was honestly surprised the woman had managed to stand and answer the door. The moment she'd gotten Harry horizontal on the sofa with a blanket over her, she'd passed out. So she'd done what she'd done with Sherlock, gone through the entire house and drained every single alcoholic container she could find, she searched every nook and cranny and found them all…as was evidenced when Harriet later woke up and tried to find them in her 'secret' stashing places. She'd sat with the woman, locked her in a room really, Harriet's hands shaking so badly she couldn't get the lock to turn, and waited for her to sober up.

They'd had a long chat about her addiction, a very long chat, and she'd stayed with Harriet for a week, literally dragging her to AA meetings to start. She called every day, she got Mycroft to put surveillance on her so that if she so much as looked at a bottle, she got an alert and could call her. It had taken a year of that, of stopping her before she started…for Harry to realize that her life was getting better. She had a steady job now, she had energy, she had a normal routine. But the drink still was a struggle for her and she didn't have anyone there to support her and really be there for her like Sherlock had HER.

She was making do though, she was learning to cope on her own. Leena would wait, sometimes, when she got an alert about Harry looking at a drink too long, she'd get a direct cut of the feed and she'd watch and wait. More often than not, she was proud to say, Harry pulled herself away from the drink and walked away, out of the room if necessary, and then she'd call her up and tell her she hadn't had a drink. Praise, a simple 'that's wonderful! Harry I'm so proud of you' was enough to put the biggest grin on Harry's face and make her want to do better next time, take less time denying the drink. She'd improved so much…but she didn't want John to see her while she was still struggling, and to be in a place where everyone else was drinking and expected to drink…Harry hadn't wanted to risk relapsing now that she was actually doing well for once.

She was hoping to see John for Christmas, when it was just a small group, where she knew Leena would make sure there was no alcohol for the visit, and just…let that be a Christmas gift for him, to see her sober and sticking to it for 2 years. She was proud of the woman, she was SO proud of Harry, and she wished she could tell John why she wasn't coming, not because she was going to get plastered as she'd heard it called, but because she'd wanted to show him she was stronger and she wasn't quite there yet.

"Mhmm," Marry murmured, answering Sherlock as she sipped her wine and grimaced terribly at it, "Urgh. I chose this wine. It's bloody awful."

Sherlock and Leena exchanged a small glance at that, Leena had been there with her when she'd picked it out, Mary had LOVED it then, and they both knew what that meant, they'd seen the signs popping up all over the place for the last few weeks.

"Yes, but it's definitely _him_ that he talks about?" Sherlock turned back to her.

"Mhmm."

"I've never even heard him say his name."

"He doesn't often say your name around others either Sherwood," Leena remarked, "People tend to do that, not talk about the people they know they won't see. Hurts less."

"He hardly said my name before that," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Because you've probably met whoever he was talking to and left quite the impression on them," Leena joked, "He'd rather not be murdered for knowing you."

"And he's almost a recluse," Mary added, helping to explain why John didn't often talk about the other man, "You know, since…" she gestured at her face.

"Yes," Sherlock nodded, eyeing the man's scars. He'd done his research on the guest, he'd been the head of a small platoon on a routine outing…and ended up with all of them killed in an attack, only Sholto had survived.

"I didn't think he'd show up at all. John says he's the most unsociable man he's ever met."

"_He_ is?" Sherlock scoffed, "_He's_ the most unsociable?"

"You're really upset that someone else might be more unsociable than you Sherwood?" Leena gave him an amused look, "YOU RSVPed to John's wedding, HE didn't. You should have guessed he's unsociable. I'd guess even before the accident."

"Mhmm," Mary nodded, recalling tales John had told of the man, he'd been stiff and formal long before the accident.

"Ah, _that's_ why he's bouncing round him like a puppy," Sherlock muttered, glaring at how John was grinning at the man as the two talked.

"You're just cross he's not punching Sholto too for turning up out of the blue after years not seeing him," Leena poked him in the side, "You should take it as a sign of love that he tried to murder you Sherwood."

"Neither of us were the first, you know," Mary smiled at him.

Sherlock glanced between the two women, seeing them both smiling at him, having worked out why he was cross in seconds, "Stop smiling."

"It's my wedding day!" Mary defended.

"And what's your excuse?" he looked at Leena.

"I'm with you," she shrugged, speaking simply, "Do I need another reason to smile?"

Mary watched, hiding her own grin behind her glass as Sherlock started to smile at that and held out a hand to Leena to lead her off. She shook her head, watching them, she couldn't wait for HIS wedding day to see how Sherlock fared. She took another sip and grimaced, it tasted worse than before!

~8~

Leena sat at the head table, watching as the guests finished up eating their meals, to see Sherlock on the opposite end of the room, talking on his mobile to Mycroft she knew. He was trying to get his brother to come to the reception at least, Mycroft hadn't RSVPed. She knew it had nothing to do with propriety or Sherlock wanting to torment Mycroft by making him endure the crowd but…his speech. Sherlock, for all he could ramble off about people, was rubbish at speeches, he stuttered and got flustered when everyone was looking at him to say something meaningful and not insulting.

It helped him to have people there that he knew and recognized and could focus on instead. In all his years, he'd come to rely on her and Mycroft, of all people, to help him in that endeavor. And with it being John's wedding, he really wanted to make it perfect for his…best friend.

She frowned when she saw Sherlock stiffen and his into the phone before ending the call and half-stalking back to the table, sitting down with a huff. She knew that look, she knew that expression, she didn't see it often, mostly when Mycroft was trying to get to him and hit him where it hurt. And there was one thing that still hurt him to that day that would make THAT expression on his face.

She reached out and put her hand on his, "He brought up Redbeard didn't he?"

"Yes," Sherlock let out a breath.

She smiled sadly, nodding at that, "You know…the typical family, as most see it, is a mother, father, 2.5 children, don't," she held up a hand, "Ask me how anyone has half a child Sherwood, I haven't the faintest idea, but they also have a pet, usually a dog," she looked at him, squeezing his hand, "We may not have any of those things at the moment, but…what do you think? Would you like to get a black lab?"

Sherlock blinked and looked at her, seeing what she was hinting at, "A…Blackbeard?"

She shrugged, "If you'd like."

He paused, thinking on that a moment, "I think…that would be…acceptable."

She laughed, knowing that was his own phrasing for saying he actually really liked, possibly even loved the idea. She knew that Redbeard had been his most treasured pet since he'd been a child, she hadn't been allowed pets so she loved visiting the Holmes house and playing with Sherlock and Redbeard, she'd rather like getting a small puppy, and…it would make her feel better now that Sherlock was back. With him there they both knew it would only be a matter of time before his old enemies and new enemies tried to come after him and they did NOT want another incident where Mrs. Hudson was hurt being dragged up the stairs to use as leverage. A guard dog to stay in the flat at times would be wonderful.

They looked up suddenly when the Master of Ceremonies tapped on a glass to get everyone's attention, "Pray silence for the best man," the man stepped aside, gesturing at the table.

"You're on Locksley," Leena whispered to him, clapping with the crowd as Sherlock stood, John to his right with Mary beside him, and Leena to lis left.

"Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends..." he began, "And...er…others," he paused, blinking, shifting a bit in discomfort, "Er...w...a-a-also..."

Leena stood slowly, gently tugging him to her to whisper something in his ear before she stepped back and moved slowly around the table, moving to walk along the walls, just sort of mingling with the different people who were also standing, her eyes locked on Sherlock as she went, winking at him once as she reached the back of the room. He smiled, keeping his gaze locked on her as he started to speak, more eloquently this time.

He needed that at times, eye contact, to feel like he was speaking to just one person instead of a room. She'd merely told him to keep his eyes on her as she walked off, hoping it would make him comfortable to feel like he was just speaking to her across the room and not addressing the crowd. She knew Molly had been worried about this, she'd spoken to Lestrade about it, and Mrs. Hudson, and even her, but she'd assured the woman that she had a plan incase Sherlock started to flub, which she did. This wasn't her first time doing something like this for him.

She'd had to do it at their graduation from University party as well. Oh that had been a night. He'd started off by insulting half of his own family with his deductions before they'd worked out that, when he focused on her or Mycroft, that he was better able to speak what he'd intended to say instead of falling back to what he was comfortable saying…deductions.

"Telegrams," she mouthed to him, nodding at his pocket, knowing it also helped him to start with other people's words than his own, a lead in of sorts. She'd once described it to him as showing the vast difference in intelligence of how one spoke compared to him, making him seem the better orator. Really though it was a technique she'd learned in a psychology class, to open with someone else took the burden of finding a way to start off of you. It was remarkable how many great speeches began with a quote from someone else.

Sherlock nodded, "Right," he felt in his pockets and pulled out a small stack of cards, clearing his throat, "First things first. Telegrams," he held them up to the crowd, "Well, they're not actually telegrams. We just _call_ them telegrams. I don't know why. Wedding tradition…because we don't have enough of that already, apparently," he rolled his eyes as Leena shook her head fondly at him and crossed her arms. He sighed, seeing her stance and nodded to himself, be more polite, "'To Mr. and Mrs Watson," he read the first one, "So sorry I'm unable to be with you on your special day. Good luck and best wishes, Mike Stamford.'"

"Ah, Mike," John smiled uncomfortably.

"'To John and Mary. All good wishes for your special day. With love and many big..." he frowned, seeing the words before continuing slowly, "_…_big squishy cuddles, from Stella and Ted.' 'Mary, lots of love poppet, oodles of love and heaps of good wishes from CAM, wish your family could have seen this,'" Sherlock glanced up to see Leena frown at that and tense.

'What?' he asked her silently with his expression, his eyes focused on her.

'Later,' she shook her head, though her own gaze was fixed on Mary, who had seemed to freeze at that last word, her expression falling, morphing not to one of a bride sad her family was gone…but to fear. She looked over at Sherlock and shook her head again, signaling for him to keep going.

"Um," Sherlock cleared his throat, moving onto the next few, "Special day, very special day, love, love, love, love, lo…bit of a theme, you get the gist. People are basically _fond_," he put the cards down, and glanced at Leena who smiled encouragingly at him, "John Watson," he gestured at the man, "My friend, John Watson. John," he nodded at the man before turning back to the crowd, looking more at Leena than the others, but addressing them all, "When John first broached the subject of being best man, I was confused. I confess at first I didn't realize he was asking me. When finally I understood, I expressed to him that I was both flattered and…surprised. I explained to him that I'd never expected this request and I was a little daunted in the face of it. I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was, for me, as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated. Additionally, I thanked him for the trust he'd placed in me…and indicated that I was, in some ways, very close to being…moved by it. It later transpired that I had said _none_ of this out loud and, had it not been for my own fiancé, Jacqueline," he gestured to the back of the room where she gave a wave to the ones there that seemed completely stunned that a man like Sherlock was engaged, before he continued, "Translating my microexpressions for John, I imagine it would have been a rather quite conversation."

Leena had to laugh at that, it was true. He'd been…completely shell shocked by John's proposal of being his Best Man. They'd been in 221B, Sherlock doing some sort of odd experiment that involved an eyeball and a blowtorch, with her sitting across from him with a clipboard, taking dictation for him when John had come in. They'd heard a noise from down stairs and had a bet going as to what it was. She thought it was Mrs. Hudson laughing, Sherlock had thought it was her torturing an owl.

She won ten quid off that bet.

John had been, admittedly, confused as to what Sherlock was doing, not even SHE was sure though she knew it had nothing to do with the excuse he'd given John, that he was trying not to smoke. He hadn't touched a cigarette in ages, she knew he hadn't, not even in the 2 years he'd been gone, because he wasn't displaying his normal tendencies when he'd had one. He was far calmer than he'd been after the Irene smoking incident. She knew that, whatever reason he was doing the experiment, he wasn't telling John because it was getting closer to the man's wedding day and he hadn't wanted to drag him into a murder mystery again so close. He'd actually learned from the bomb on the train car to wait till AFTER important events like that to drag John along into danger again.

He'd gotten a bit distracted though when the eyeball had fallen into his cup of tea…but John had brought them back to point, and asked Sherlock about the Best Man position. Sherlock had misinterpreted and thought John was asking him who the best man he'd known was, Billy Kincaid apparently. Then John had explained he meant he needed a best man for the wedding…to which Sherlock had responded that 'Gavin Lestrade' would be a good choice as he was a good man. John had had to point out that GREG wasn't his best friend. And, yet again, Sherlock misinterpreted that he was speaking of Mike Stamford.

John had looked near the point of frustration and annoyance with Sherlock before she'd put her hand on his arm and explained to Sherlock that John was asking HIM to be his best man. John had agreed and explained that on a day like that, the most important one of his life, he wanted to be up there with the three people who were most important to him, Mary, Leena (who had already been asked by Mary to be her Maid of Honor), and HIM.

Sherlock had frozen. And stared…

And stared…

And stared…

Until John actually seemed a bit frightened of it. She'd gotten up and moved to his side, kissing his cheek to snap him out of it. Sherlock had looked at her, confused, as though asking if that had really happened, and she'd smiled and nodded. Sherlock had been completely stunned that John considered him his best friend…so stunned that he'd nearly taken a sip of the eyeball-tea till she'd pulled it away from him. When John brought up the fact he had to make a speech, Sherlock had sort of stared off again.

She'd thanked John enormously for offering that position to Sherlock and he'd just waved it off, but she knew it meant the world to Sherlock. He'd only ever really had her and Mycroft, much like she'd only had him and Mycroft, growing up. They'd always been together and that was why he'd had such a hard time following John's questioning for the best man. He'd never expected anyone besides her to consider him a best friend, or even a friend, a true friend mind you. He'd had 'friends' in the past, who ended up belittling him one day and then using him to determine if their girlfriends were cheating on them the next, like Sebastian. So to have John offer him that…it proved to Sherlock that he really did consider him to be his truest and best friend.

He'd been touched AND moved no matter what he said.

Sherlock cleared his throat, more to get Leena to look at him again than to help himself, he could see her mind drifting to those memories from across the room. He waited till she looked at him once more before he pulled out another set of cue cards from his inner pocket and sorted through them.

"Done that. Done that. Done that bit. Done that bit. Done that bit. Hmm..." he looked up at the guests, at Leena, and then to John, "I'm afraid, John, I can't congratulate you…"

John and Mary looked surprised and upset by that, glancing at Leena in alarm that he'd say such a thing at the wedding.

"Wait for it," she mouthed to them, crossing her heart that it was a good thing. She'd helped Sherlock work on the speech after Lestrade had nearly tried to murder him and had to be dragged out by his own swat team. Apparently Sherlock had contacted him for anecdotes about John, part of a mass text he'd sent out, but Lestrade had thought it was an emergency when he'd requested help at 221B and said 'please.' He'd dropped the bust of the largest and most ongoing crime spree by the Waters Family to come help, leaving the arrest to one of the newer recruits who had taken Donovan's place when she'd been fired, and rushed to 221B with maximum backup, swat teams, helicopters, the works…and then found out Sherlock was just trying to write his best man speech.

She'd felt it necessary to bail him out of jail for the wedding.

But she gave John and Mary a reassuring nod, she knew the speech by heart, she knew what Sherlock would say and she had proofread it and helped him edit it to not be TOO insulting, and she knew what was coming. They just had to trust that she wouldn't let him say something too disheartening, even though it seemed that way at first.

"All emotions," he turned to the guests, "And in particular love, stand opposed to the pure, cold reason I hold above all things except one," he looked at Leena, making her smile, she was his only exception to that logic, "A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world. Today we honor the death-watch beetle that is the doom of our society  
and, in time, one feels certain, our entire species…"

"YOU'RE getting married!" John reminded him with a roll of his eyes.

"Please," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "We'll be renewing our vows, it's completely different."

Leena blinked when the entire crowd turned to her, half of them looking shocked that she was apparently already married. She rolled her own eyes, showing just how like Sherlock she was after all that time, "We got married when we were 10, my teddy bear was the vicar, may we continue?"

The crowd chuckled a little at that, realizing it was a play wedding that children had. Sherlock sighed, he'd been hoping to avoid having that come up. He didn't want well wishes from people who didn't care or know him. There were only a handful of people he considered he'd possibly be able to stomach having to see for an entire wedding and reception and he didn't want a big thing of it. He also knew, deep, DEEP down, that it was his way of coping with…nerves. Yes, he could admit, to himself at least, though he suspected Leena knew, that he WAS nervous about the idea of marrying her. He just…so many people throughout his life had called him freak and arse and a plethora of other names that no one in their right mind would ever want to tie themselves to for life…

But Leena did.

And he was actually…quite afraid that, one day, she'd look at him and see what everyone else saw, an unpleasant, rude, ignorant, obnoxious, arrogant, arse and that she'd just…want nothing to do with him. He was…truly worried for that outcome. And this was his way of coping, to think of that god awful and ridiculous wedding ceremony as children as…being real. Because then it meant they WERE married already, that Leena was already his, that she wouldn't leave. It was his way of dealing with the nerves to think they were already wed and that the 'wedding' would just be renewing vows.

He knew Leena didn't believe that at all, that their next wedding would be the real one, but she let him have his fantasy.

"Yes," he cleared his throat, "To continue…" he glanced at his cards, "Let's talk about John," he looked at Leena who nodded for him to continue despite the discomfort that had settled on the guests, "If I burden myself and Leena with a little help-mate during our adventures, it is not out of sentiment or caprice, it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me and Leena. Indeed, any reputation I have for mental acuity and sharpness comes, in truth, from the incessant need to impress my fiancé," Sherlock admitted, making Leena blush a bit at that, "And is amplified and made viewable by the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides. And contrast is, after all, God's own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation...or it _would_ be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot."

"It's somewhat true," Leena felt she had to add when everyone started to get grim and uncomfortable, "In the medieval era, the second sons who had no prospect of inheriting land would often join the church, those of the more noble families almost instantly became bishops. That's what he meant by that," she offered as an apology, she hadn't quite thought the vicar would still be there.

"The point I'm _trying_ to make is that…I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous, at times unaware of the beautiful," he looked at Leena for a moment, "And uncomprehending in the face of the happy," he looked at John a moment before addressing the crowd, "I honestly cannot fathom why my fiancé would agree to tie herself to a man such as me for eternity, or however long we live with the 'friends' I make," Lestrade chuckled a bit at that before falling quiet when Molly nudged him, "So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend other than Leena," he looked at John again, "And certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest man I have ever had the good fortune of knowing," Mary and John smiled at that as the crowed awed and looked at him with wide grins. Sherlock glanced at the card, and nearly rolled his eyes, "And I've been instructed to add that I say 'man' because, as all are aware, any woman in the world can be considered brave, kind, and wise…" he looked at Leena who shrugged as the women chuckled and cheered at that, "But that it takes a rather exceptional man to be considered on par with a such a woman," he could admit that one though, he had yet to meet a man that could rival Leena in his eyes, John did come the closest though, "John," he turned to him again, "I am a ridiculous man redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of Leena's love and your friendship. But, as I'm apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion," he waited till John looked offended before smiling, "Actually, now I _can_. Mary," he took a breath and looked at her, "When I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable when speaking of someone who is not Leena. John, you have endured war and injury and tragic loss…so sorry again about that last one…so know this, today you sit across from the woman you have protected," he glanced at Leena a moment, and back to them, "And you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved, in short, the three people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for Mary and Leena as well when I say we will _never_ let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that."

Leena smiled at that, tears in her eyes as she listened to him speak. He was deviating a bit, she hadn't put any mentions of herself in that speech save for the woman remark, but that had been a nod to Mary not herself. Sherlock had added those other parts in it seemed, and she was…so touched that he had done so. She'd tried to make it a speech that he would give, one that was him but slightly toned down for insults, and he had truly made it a speech he would give. As it was with her, where hardly an hour went by she didn't have some thought pertaining to him, even when she'd been in America, it was the same for him. He was as much a part of her as she was him, and so of course he had to add her into his speech.

She could see John and Mary murmuring and just knew that John was about to hug Sherlock from his body language and Mary's smile.

"Ah, yes," Sherlock continued, seeming to not notice the sniffles and tears of the crowd as he made it to the next card, "Now on to some funny stories about John…" he trailed off when he looked up to focus on Leena and saw the crowd was actually crying, even Lestrade seemed affected, "What's wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that? Leena?" she just shook her head at him, "Did I do it wrong?" he blinked and looked at John, "Did I?"

"No, you didn't," John stood, "Come here," and pulled Sherlock into a hug as Leena started to clap, the rest of the crowd joining in at the moment.

"I haven't finished yet," Sherlock warned him as he pulled away.

"Yeah, I know, I know," John sighed.

"So, on to some funny stories…" he began again as the crowd finished clapping.

"Can you…can you wait 'til I sit down?" John laughed, sitting.

"So, on to some funny stories about John," Sherlock cleared his throat, "Don't be alarmed," he added to the man, "I've Leena's approval to…" he looked over when he heard someone that sounded a good deal like Lestrade make a whipping noise and frowned, "What was that?"

John shook his head, "Nothing, nothing, just…go on," he laughed seeing Leena blush at that. Sherlock hadn't even seemed to realize that he'd essentially said that he wasn't going to say anything Leena hadn't deemed proper, well that was a first.

"On we go then," Sherlock muttered, "So, for funny stories..." he reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile, "_O_ne has to look no further than John's blog. The record of our time together. Of course, he does tend to forget that Leena is supposed to be written as Jackie in which case I must commandeer his laptop to correct his editing, and he DOES romanticize things a bit, but then, you know..." he looked at the happy couple, "He's a romantic," he looked at Leena softly, "Something that, I admit, I do try to aspire to be in minor ways from having known John."

Leena blushed and shook her head, her expression clear, 'You're romantic enough,' she could hardly imagine how she'd stand it if he were any more romantic than he already was. Not many people would think that, romanticism in relation to him, but…he was, behind closed doors, and sometimes with others around, rather romantic with her. It was all about subtlety though, one had to look if they didn't know him and know the deviations in his normal behavior. Small things were romantic when he did it that others might not consider because it was just so…NOT Sherlock to do them, yet he did with her. The smallest touch, the lightest kiss, sitting in 221B reading to her, or them sitting on the armchair together and watching the telly, it was romantic to her. Even the experiments where he wasn't doing it for a mystery but to try and work out something for HER, something to make her happy or make something unique for her were romantic.

Sherlock had to smirk at that to himself, inwardly VERY pleased with that, "We've tackled some strange cases: the Hollow Client," he thought back to when they'd entered 221B to see a chair with an empty suit lying there, "The Poison Giant," quite the contradiction that was, being a rather small individual with a poisoned dart pipe, "We've had some frustrating cases..." there had been one in particular with matchboxes and a French decathlete, who had actually been an old friend of Leena's from before she moved, that had been found completely out of his mind and surrounded by 1,812 matchboxes with all but 1 empty, the 1 containing something that was rather amazing, "Touching' cases," he nearly sneered at that one.

Leena though laughed, knowing his version of 'touching' was when women would come to the door, about to ring, then leave, then come back and walk off, and so on and so on. She was able to profile those women, love affairs the lot of them.

"And, of _course,_ I have to mention the elephant in the room…" Sherlock winced at that, there really HAD been an elephant in the room for that case…they weren't entirely sure how it had gotten into the room to begin with though, "But we want something...very particular for this special day, don't we?" he grinned, spotting one case in particular, it had been a toss up between two cases, one he'd picked and one Leena picked, "The Bloody Guardsman."

Leena smiled at that, he'd gone with her preference for the case. It had been…quite interesting and quite frustrating for Sherlock…because he hadn't solved it. He'd picked the most gruesome one he could find, but one that he's solved. He'd meant it to be a testament of John's strength, that he could put up with horror like that and still help, that he could stomach it and protect people by helping solve crimes, he'd even gotten to fight a bit which, wasn't that what women wanted to hear? She'd just pointed out that to use the Guardsman, one of his UNSOLVED crimes, would show John that he'd be willing to diminish his own importance to make John's day special, that it would emphasize how John had, despite a mystery being about, focused on the guard and saved the young man's life. It showed his care and how he was a doctor, a strong leader, and capable as well.

She was really very pleased he'd selected that story. It had started off quite interestingly though, not really with a client needing their help so much as selecting a random client TO help. They'd been helping Mary and John with the final details of the wedding, Sherlock having replaced all of his information on the wall with details of the wedding and the guest list while she and Mary had been at a table working on the seating arrangements, and John had been in the back on his phone.

Sherlock had made a comment about Mary's side of the church being thin, but she'd reminded him she was an orphan and only had friends coming. He'd gotten a bit too invested in the wedding planning, really VERY invested, he had really taken to his role as Best Man and her as Maid of Honor in terms of how they were supposed to help and make the day perfect. He'd felt it fell to them to make sure every detail was planned out, from the precise minute the organ music had to start playing. That had been two weeks ago and Sherlock had been a mess, all of them could tell he was nervous despite his claims of being 'calm.'

But only she knew the real reason why he'd been so agitated. It was a two part thing, the first was that…he really had never been someone's best friend besides her and…he didn't want to let John down. He'd really taken to his role and duty and he WAS taking it seriously. But she knew it was also in part nerves for their own upcoming wedding. She couldn't be sure what sort of nerves they were though. Sometimes it seemed like he saw something he felt she might like in their own wedding but held off bringing it up as it was meant to be John and Mary's wedding day, which made it seem like he wanted it over with so they could plan their own wedding. And other times it felt like he was just anxious that planning a wedding was reminding him they WOULD have to plan their own after it was over and wanted to be done with it so that he'd have a small reprieve before having to do that.

Sherlock had ended up deducing half the guests that hated Mary and putting them in the farthest corner of the room by the toilets so as not to upset her he was being THAT serious about it all. He was so focused that she knew that he needed a case or he'd go stark raving mad, well…he'd drive John and Mary stark raving mad at least. She'd suggested, subtly, that John find a case for Sherlock, both to get him out of the house and let her and Mary plan the last details, and also to give the men time together, like they'd been before she and Mary had appeared. She had tried, as Mary was, not to get between John and Sherlock when she'd come back from America, tried to involve John in everything, get to know him, but she knew that John was more accepting and sharing than Sherlock was. He just…needed one more case with just John to remember their friendship was strong and nothing would change.

If she and Mary got along swimmingly, they'd have a double chance of keeping both her and John in their lives. So she'd urged John to take Sherlock out for a case, just the two men, give him a chance to talk to Sherlock as well. There was only so much SHE could say about profiling the type of man John was before John himself needed to say his piece.

There had been loads of clients, priceless paintings being nicked, someone whose husband was three people (which Sherlock solved in seconds), and even with that Sherlock had gotten distracted with napkin folding that she'd taught him, of a swan or the Sydney Opera House. Leena had subtly texted Mary during that moment and she'd pretended like she'd gotten a call from 'Beth' who didn't exist, it was code for her and John to go talk while she distracted Sherlock or tried to…he'd ended up distracting himself…by making 20 or so more Sydney Opera House napkins, much to her amusement. He'd only stopped once he'd run out of them, well, when he thought he'd run out of them, she'd really hidden the rest though.

It had taken John half begging him to go on a case, pretending he was at his own end with all the planning and the perfume smelling and cake tasting and bridesmaids dress coloring for Sherlock to agree to leave 221B and go on a case. It had taken Leena promising that she wouldn't make him have to sample as much as John had for their own wedding and mentioning she was helping Mary plan out the honeymoon for her to get him to leave without her.

As she listened to Sherlock describe the incident to the guests, reading it off of John's blog, she couldn't help but remember when Sherlock and John had told her and Mary what happened…when they'd met the two at the hospital where the Guardsman had been taken. Apparently, the Guardsman, Bainbridge, felt he'd been stalked, that one particular person kept taking pictures of him both on duty and off as a Private in Her Majesty's Household Guard. It had intrigued Sherlock the fact that, out of about 40 other men only THIS one was being targeted, so he and John had gone to investigate with a ridiculous cover story that they were going to buy socks.

Socks.

Bainbridge had been on duty when they'd gotten there and they'd had to wait an hour till he was done to be able to speak to him. Of course that hadn't been short enough for Sherlock who, in the middle of John and him 'chatting' across the street about Major Sholto and John trying to reassure him that nothing would change with their mysteries and adventures, had snuck off and into the Guardhouse. Which left John little option but to contact the head of the house with his own military credentials to try and get in himself. It wasn't like he could replicate Sherlock's method of stealing a guard's cap and marching in with them. John had only just gotten to requesting to see Bainbridge and explaining the stalking when a man had run in to say that Bainbridge had been murdered!

John had followed the guards to the showers where Bainbridge was face down in his own blood, Sherlock dragged into the room a short while later. They'd both been accused of killing the man till Sherlock brought up there was no weapon to be seen. Then the man thought he'd stabbed Bainbridge before he got in the show, till he'd pointed out that Bainbridge was wet and he was dry. That meant that Bainbridge had been stabbed AFTER he'd gotten in the shower, adding in another guard commenting that the cubical was locked from the inside made it hard for anyone of them to be the murderer. John had demanded to see the body and found a small wound in the abdomen, a very FINE wound, and while that was happening, Sherlock was looking around at the crime scene, trying to deduce what happened.

…until John realized that Bainbridge was still alive, and then it was a flurry of people trying to save his life.

She'd laughed a bit, despite the situation, when Sherlock remarked to her that John had called him 'nurse' in the middle of it all. He'd insisted he'd never been a nurse in his life! To which she'd reminded him of a time when she'd been a little girl and had gotten a rather terrible pneumonia in her first winter in London. She had been staying with the Holmes family for the holiday and Sherlock had taken to attending to her, her self-proclaimed nurse. She was sure he meant to say doctor, but had kept using the term for 'nurse' in French when he'd attempted to make her feel better by speaking only in French for her.

"Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty," she heard Sherlock finish up, "He'd stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach, but there was no weapon. Where did it go? Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this…a murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish, but in all of this there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess?"

Leena smiled, she didn't know this part of the speech, as it was Sherlock's forte to talk about his mysteries, she knew he'd be more comfortable talking about this than his earlier speech so she'd let him have free reign, she had no idea what it could be, but she COULD guess. She knew how Sherlock's mind worked and she knew the point he was trying to make.

"Come on, come on," he called to the crowd as they fidgeted, "There is actually an element of Q and A to all of this. Scotland Yard," he pointed at Lestrade, "Have _you_ got a theory?" but the man just stared at him, "Yeah, you. You're a detective, broadly speaking. Got a theory?"

"Er, um," Lestrade floundered a moment, "If the, uh, if the…if-if-if-if the blade was, er, propelled through the, um ...grating in the air vent…maybe a-a ballister or a…or a…or a catapult. Erm, somebody tiny could-could crawl in there. So, yeah, we're loo...we're looking for a-a-a-a dwarf."

Sherlock stared at him, "Brilliant."

And Lestrade blinked, "Really?"

"No."

"Sorry Greg," Leena offered him a smile, making her way over to put her hand on his arm.

"Next!" Sherlock called, before seeing Tom whisper to Molly 'he stabbed himself' and pointed at him, "Hello? Who was that? Tom. Got a theory?" he asked as the boy stood.

"Um," Tom swallowed, "Attempted suicide, with a blade made of compacted blood and bone, broke after piercing his abdomen like a meat…dagger."

Sherlock blinked, "A meat dagger."

"Yes?"

"Sit…down," Molly hissed at him and Tom sat promptly.

"I don't think so, sorry," Leena told him gently.

"There was _one_ feature," Sherlock spoke, "And _only_ one feature, of interest in the whole of this baffling case, and quite frankly it was the usual. Leena?"

"John," she replied without a moment's hesitation. Really though, it should have been obvious to the crowd, the entire point of Sherlock's speech was to praise John, who else would he be speaking of.

"John Watson," he nodded, "Who, while I was trying to solve the murder, instead saved a life. There _are_ mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling," he looked at John, "he best and bravest man I know and, on top of that, he actually knows how to do stuff…except wedding planning and serviettes, he's rubbish at those."

"True," John chuckled as the guests joined in.

"The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly planned murder, or attempted murder, I've ever had the pleasure to encounter," Sherlock continued, "The most perfect locked-room mystery of which I am aware. However, I'm not just here to praise John," he smirked, "I'm also here to embarrass him, so let's move on to some..."

"No," Lestrade interrupted, "No, wait, so how was it...how was it done?"

"How was _what_ done?"

"The stabbing."

Sherlock's jaw tensed and Leena offered him an apologetic shrug for how he'd been hoping that no one would ask that particular question, "I'm afraid I don't know. I didn't solve that one. That's..." he sighed, "It can happen sometimes. It's very...very disappointing. Embarrassment leads me on to the stag night. Of course there's hours of material here, but I've cut it down to the really good bits."

Leena shook her head, he was going to tell them everything, wasn't he?

A/N: An apology and then a sort of important note...

SO sorry this wasn't posted at the normal time. My account was glitching yet again :( I tried to log on and my computer kept going to those error pages :( I've been trying for literally every 10 minutes to get on to post this chapter and finally got on! I'm really hoping this isn't going to be a continuous glitch with FF it's like the second or third time it's happened to me this month :(

Importantish note for -tomorrow- though, there will** NOT** be a chapter for this story posted tomorrow :( I'm really SO sorry! :'( I was trying to get ahead in my editing and, going through the next chapter last night, I'm just really not happy with how parts of it play out. I'm going to try to use tonight to rewrite those portions, but it's the first night of classes (-sigh-) and they're currently still scheduled despite it snowing at the moment, so I can't say how much time I'll have to do that. I just wanted to put this here as a sort of warning that I'm going to try and get the chapter fixed, but IF there's no chapter tomorrow, it's not a glitch in the system tomorrow, it's just that I really want to give you all the best version of a chapter that I can right from the go and the next chapter isn't where I want it to be looking back at it :( But I'll definitely have more time tomorrow to get the chapter really ready and it WILL be up on Thursday, cross my heart :)

So it might just take a day longer, but I hope you'll all enjoy the chapter on Thursday :)

As for this chapter though, I was debating whether to have the flashbacks in, but I didn't want to keep going back and forth between the past and present, I wanted to focus on the moment and the relationship for all of them and John's big day, I wanted it to be in the now so I tried my best to include the flashbacks in memories without actually going through them with the back and forth :)

Some notes on reviews...

Lol, never feel horrible for pointing something out that I got wrong ;) I went back and fixed the little rhyme, thanks! :)

I can say I have a chapter planned for the spinoff of this story where we see John dealing with an adventure with Sherlock and Leena and, through the course of it, they all learn that the two are engaged ;) So we get to see reactions there, but it'll be a while before I post that story :)

I can't say when they'll get married, but I can say they will get married one day ;)

I can't say if it'll be in this story or the next (or a future one) though, I want it to be a nice surprise when it happens :)

Lol, I'm glad you're liking the story :) I actually had a note up on my profile (and tumblr) about when the story would be posted ;) Leena's the new Maid of Honor here, but I can't say when the wedding will happen, it could be they secretly eloped already or that it'll be in the future, we'll have to wait and see :)

I don't think he so much forgot, it's just he's been with Leena so long (I think, in his mind, he's already realized he's committed/married to her as much as his work) that he doesn't even think of the wedding as being an actual wedding but more a show for others :)

I got the episodes on Putlocker :) If you google search the episode title with putlocker that's the site I used :)

That's awesome :) I wish I knew about the transcript earlier, lol, I made my own for this story :) I'm glad you're enjoying Sparks, I'm very excited for CM too, time seems to fly though in the world of fanfiction, it'll be 2015 before you know it ;)


	5. The Sign of Three - Promises

The Sign of Three: Promises

The stag night…was likely the most fun that Leena and Mary had ever had…and it was JOHN'S stag night they were speaking of. Unbeknownst to Sherlock and John, Leena and Mary had played the role of secret agent for a night, trying to see if they could 'pull a fast one' over on the great Sherlock Holmes and the war-hardened John Watson.

And they'd succeeded.

It hadn't really been much of a challenge though, Leena thought back on it, Sherlock and John both seemed the sort not to notice things unless they were actively looking for it so neither had noticed her or Mary, decked out to the nines in black, sneaking behind them and lurking in the shadows and watching and…well, that sort of made them sound like horror movie murderer or something didn't it?

It had just been a bit of fun though. She and Mary hadn't been able to come up with anything better to do than to tag along after Sherlock and John and watch them make complete and utter fools out of themselves while they were drunk. It had truly been the most interesting night of their lives, watching the two men get completely smashed…and in only two hours.

Molly had actually been the one to first bring up what Sherlock and John were planning to do for the stag, well what Sherlock was planning to do for John. Something about him coming to her work and asking her to calculate their ideal alcoholic intake so that they could simply remain buzzed and not smashed the entire night. She'd asked them what she should do because, apparently, Sherlock's idea of the pubs to be in were the ones close to where they'd solved murders…and she had felt that a bit tactless for a stag night to go back to those places. She'd been pleased Sherlock had wanted to not get smashed, but at the same time she hadn't been sure what Mary's thoughts on it all were so she'd wanted to call them up.

They'd agreed to tell her to give him numbers that were slightly off because if the men were going to go on a romp about town, well…they wanted to see it. Leena especially had never seen Sherlock drink much so she wanted to see if he would actually get drunk. He tended to stay away from the drink because it slowed down his mind and made thinking harder so he kept back from it. For him to actually be willing to drink, she knew that no matter how cautious he was, because he drank so infrequently, he'd be passed out drunk within hours…and she hadn't wanted to miss that. Mary had laughed and called her wicked when she'd suggested that they fib the numbers a bit and that they sneak along after the men to watch the trouble they got into without them there to keep them right…but had agreed wholeheartedly as well.

They'd met up in Mary's home, John meeting at 221B and got all decked out in black outfits. It had also been…a bit of a test for Mary as well, Leena could admit. Because Mary had already had an entirely black outfit, pants, long shirt, hat, she looked like a proper burglar of some sort when she'd arrived to get ready as well. Sherlock was keeping track of John and his alcohol intake on his phone so it would be turned on all night and Leena had been able to track it with her own so it wasn't like they had to rush to follow them at times. She'd ended up in a similar outfit as Mary and the two were off, sneaking about the streets of London…and watching their poor boys just getting completely drunk within the first hour…and then keep going into the second.

It had been most amusing to see Sherlock using graduated cylinders as a means of measuring the ideal intake of alcohol. They sat in the backs of pubs, kept close to the walls and the shadows, watching as the two drank, Sherlock timing them and putting the data into his phone. It had actually seemed to be working a bit for him at first, they had started to get lightly buzzed…or Sherlock had…but John had followed soon after though not until he'd started taking extra shots when Sherlock's back was turned. They'd gone to about 9 or 10 pubs in just the first two hours alone…which they had to admit sounded like a record of sorts.

It really HAD seemed like Sherlock's plan might have worked when his program had been able to predict that John would need the loo one time…but that was also because of the small fibs she and Mary had given Molly to use for her calculations.

Mary had had to cover her mouth though and half-pull Leena into a dark corner when she'd seen Sherlock, completely and utterly smashed, getting into an argument over 'ash' and trying to drunkenly fight someone. She had never seen Sherlock quite that out of it from something none recreational-drug related. Given the innocent nature of this particular mind-affecting substance, she was ok with him drinking for John's wedding. So it had been hysterical to her to see him so unbalanced and slurred and to know that it wasn't something addicting and detrimental to his health that could kill him if he took just one more sip of it. Alcohol, while addictive at times, to Sherlock he rather hated the taste of it and she knew he was only enduring this for John…though he seemed to be having a grand old time of it in the end.

She doubted he'd even realized that the man he was fighting with was talking about a PERSON named Ash instead of actual ash, as he'd written extensively on in his blog. She'd had to cover Mary's mouth in return though when John had tried to drag Sherlock out of the pub while the man flailed wildly like a toddler in the process.

She was quite sure that both men had absolutely no idea how they'd managed to make it back to 221B Baker Street, as they'd both woken up on the stairs, curled up with their backs to each other. She and Mary had had to get them, nearly passed out drunk, into a cab and get it back to Baker Street before they became too conscious to realize what was going on. They'd sort of had to leave them on the steps on accident though, they'd been planning to really freak them out by getting them up to the rooms in 221B and all dressed for bed and 'tucked in' and have them wake up with no memory of what had happened or how they got there…unfortunately Mrs. Hudson had walked in on them trying to half-lead, half-drag the two up the stairs.

They may or may not have accidently let their support of the two men go and send them falling onto the stairs where they'd just sort of…laid there…sleeping.

They'd ushered Mrs. Hudson into another room to speak to her quietly, to make sure she wouldn't tell Sherlock or John how they'd been sneaking along after them…only to hear them waking, well, heard Sherlock waking, muttering something about his reputation being international and how he couldn't remember what his reputation was even for. They'd sent Mrs. Hudson out to try and get them upstairs and resting so that they could sneak out and head back to Mary's…

Something which had nearly been ruined when they'd heard Sherlock call Mrs. Hudson 'Hudders.' Also something that Leena was never going to let him live down (claiming Mrs. Hudson had told her about it).

Leena was also quite sure that Sherlock had completely forgotten that she'd left the small camera that they'd filmed Moriarty with in the bookshelf, having placed it back there after they'd gotten the footage off it. The camera didn't record things itself, it more was like the lens and all the footage was recorded onto her laptop, which she'd brought to Mary's. The two of them had gotten into the pajamas, sat on Mary's bed and watched, laughing hysterically, as the boys tried to play some sort of guessing game to wait till their 'buzz' had faded.

They both had ended up with cards stuck to their foreheads, Sherlock with 'Sherlock Holmes' written on his and John with 'Madonna.' Mary had nearly had a heart attack when she'd just started to randomly laugh at that as well, till she explained that Sherlock had no idea who Madonna was unless you counted the painting 'Madonna on the Rocks.' It had been an amusing round to see both men struggling to guess who the other was. John had actually thought he was a vegetable for a moment.

Sherlock had gotten a bit closer in his own questioning, determining he was human, a man, tallish, niceish, clever, important to some people and not liked at all as he rubbed people the wrong way…but also determining that, despite that, he was engaged. All of which, somehow, had led Sherlock to think he was both the current king of England (as though they had one) and then later John himself.

John's questions nearly got him there as well after the vegetable remark, he'd found out he was a woman and that Sherlock couldn't tell him if he was pretty because "beauty was a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models and, unless he was Leena, there would be no way possible to say that the person on the card was pretty." That had made Leena blush to hear, that, even drunk, Sherlock thought she was beautiful. John had just groaned and fallen back on his chair before laughing and pointing at Sherlock to say that at least he knew he wasn't Leena.

Sherlock then admitted HE didn't even know who John WAS, turned out he'd just picked the name from random in the papers.

Their small game was interrupted when a new client had arrived…which sent both women into rounds of laughter trying to guess how the night would go with the two not quite sober and a young nurse needing help.

The poor girl, that poor nurse…they'd almost been tempted to go to 221B themselves and try to help her instead of subjecting her to Sherlock and John in their drunken state…but it was far too amusing to them to watch the men struggle through trying to keep awake and attentive as she spoke of her conundrum.

The girl, Tessa, she'd introduced herself as, didn't tend to date much, but the man she'd recently found had been nice, they'd connected, had dinner, conversation…just a lovely time. She'd been going on about how special the night was and that she wanted to take things slow as both Sherlock and John tried not to drift off to sleep, both of them jerking their heads up and down to try and stay awake. The girl kept on about how they'd exchanged numbers but then the man had never called her again, nearly seeming near tears to have to say that. SHERLOCK had looked nearly in tears to hear that said as well…till he'd realized he was being empathetic and shaken himself out of it.

But Leena had known that it was because he could relate, to not being able to be in contact with the person you loved. Even though he doubted Tessa had truly fallen deeply in love with that man, but…he could relate to being that cut off and so suddenly. He had told her about what it was like, those 2 years alone, he hadn't had a phone with him, having to rely on contacts that Mycroft sent his way to relay messages. But there would be times, so many more towards the beginning of his time, that he'd reach into his pocket, as though to grab his phone and text her, or that he'd wake up thinking he'd missed her call and turn over to try and call her back only to realize it hadn't happened. Whenever he held anything remotely the size or shape of a phone he ended up automatically putting in her number even if there were no buttons to push.

Tessa had continued on to explain that she'd gone to the man's flat but he was gone, everything was till there but no sign of him. It had made her think she'd dated a ghost…and then she'd noticed the two men had fallen asleep and shouted 'ghost' at them till they woke up abruptly, Sherlock blaming John for having fallen asleep despite the fact he'd done so as well. Tessa told them that she'd checked the flat's landlord, found out that the man had died BEFORE she'd had dinner with him, which made her feel he'd been a ghost…and how she'd found a website chatroom of the similar situation for other women, how they all thought they'd dated ghosts.

Sherlock had sworn that he'd find the man in ten minutes…and then thought it was a dog she'd been talking about. He'd gotten all excited in his drunken ramblings and decided they had to go out and investigate the ghost's flat because the game was…something.

Mary had asked her if he really said 'the game is on' as often as John told her about it. She'd just remarked MUCH more than that. It was something Sherlock had said about everything from the time he'd been a boy, every sort of game or puzzle he'd begin with that phrase. Over time it had just sort of trickled down to relating only to crimes and solving murders.

They'd debated what to do, whether to go to the flat too, or wait there and see what happened…till Mary had had the brilliant idea to try and hack the security system of the flat. They'd managed to track it from the details they could hear Tessa giving about the man as the trio left, found his flat complex. It was one of those modern homes, the ones with the security in the building that was a tiny bit more high tech than simple security cameras. So they'd worked on it, and with help from Leena's small hacking program, she'd managed to get them in…unfortunately it had only been on her phone so they'd crowded together and watched even more of the hilarity on the tiny screen of her phone.

She'd had to record it though because seeing John and Sherlock like that was just too funny. And to see them in that sort of modern 'bachelor' pad type room with modern furniture and arte pieces all over…and then to see them trying to investigate and deduce the scene…well, thinking back on that would have them laughing just before entering the grave they were sure of it.

John had seemed half-asleep still though as he leaned against a pipe, watching as Sherlock, on his knees, trying to investigate and examine the sofa and floor. He'd tried to stand, promptly fallen onto the sofa once more, and then managed to get up and investigate around the room. 'Clueing for looks' as John had called it. Leena had shaken her head watching him, the curious expression on his face as he looked around made her think he wasn't quite sure what he was seeing. He'd always had a bit of trouble interpreting modern art and architecture and furniture. She wouldn't have been surprised if he was seeing things like 'egg chair sitty thing' or 'speaker thing' or a 'deaded skull.'

Eventually though, Sherlock had ended up back on the ground, examining it closely with a magnifier…before falling down onto the run, face first, his bum in the air…asleep. The landlord had been less amused than THEY had been watching it and hauled Sherlock to his feet threatening to call the police. Tessa tried to vouch for them, telling the man that they were Sherlock Holmes and John Hamish Watson, the famous detective and his partner…

Only for Sherlock to throw up on the rug after having just told them not to compromise the integrity of the scene. Well, John had shouted out 'crime scene' but that really did not amuse the landlord, who HAD called the cops. Luckily though she and Mary had gotten a hold of Lestrade first and HE had taken up 'arresting' the two of them.

They'd ended up in a holding cell for the night, Lestrade pretending that she and Mary had had to 'bail them out' the next morning when the two had picked their boys up. It had been a hoot to see Lestrade yelling at them and making their hangovers worse. Sherlock had been rather cross when his mind had cleared to realize that he'd just missed the opportunity to investigate one of the more interesting cases they'd had in quite some time, a woman who dated a ghost, which had immediately been something he'd set about solving the moment they'd gotten both boys back to 221B.

They'd gotten out about six laptops, her and Sherlock and even Mary typing away to help him sort through the different women on the chatroom of the 'I dated a Ghost' website. She'd managed a small geographic profile of Tessa's ghost, found the women from the website that had been the most likely to have come in contact with the same ghost as her given the geographic area he had taken Tessa to. There were four other women that had ended up in the same general area as the 'ghost.' There was Gail the Gardener, Charlotte the Cook, Robyn the Security Guard, and Vicky the Maid, along with Tessa that had made five victims. Unfortunately the fact that they all met the same man in disguise was where the similarities ended.

They'd met in different places, from a pub to the gym, a bus to online, and he named himself differently each time, Oscar, Mike, Terry, and Leena's personal favorite 'Love_Monkey.' The women themselves didn't even have much in common, being of different professions, with different ideals for dates like pigeon shooting or dancing or dungeons, different makeup preferences and different perfumes, even different ideal men! Well, there were two things in common, all the women claimed to not have a secret they hadn't told anyone and the man always took the women back to 'his place' though his place was different each time. Running a quick search of the names and addresses the women gave led to the obituaries so it was quite easy for them to work out that the man was merely taking the name of a recently deceased man, dying his hair from blonde to black to ginger to anything just to match the description of him, and taking the women to that particular man's flat, assuming no one would be there to use it. There he did nothing but talk and charm the women, but little else and it only lasted for the one night, like a Mayfly.

Tessa, the nurse, had joined them a short while in though, which was better for the profile Leena was building about the man. That hadn't lasted long though as Tessa, with a fond farewell of enjoying the wedding, and the others all signed out quickly after Sherlock asked them about their secrets. John had suspected that the man was merely married and that was why he kept changing his appearance to date all these women.

Leena wasn't so sure though. The level of dedication that the man was showing, how he kept flitting from one woman to the next…it wasn't just someone looking for a way out of an unhappy marriage. He would have kept in contact, broken up with them, the fact that he didn't showed he didn't care. He was using the women for something, he was using them to get close to them and then, once he worked out what he wanted from them, or worked out that they didn't have what he wanted from them, he moved on to the next. He didn't care at all about them unless they had what he wanted. That meant one of them knew something, some piece of information that the man wanted desperately. The women were all interconnected, she was sure of that, they all were placed at jobs through the same temp agency, she'd gathered that much from her search. Which meant the man was looking for a client they had all had.

Those records though, were surprisingly difficult to hack. She'd tried and quite a few came up as confidential or classified or even with rather ridiculous false names. Still, it all added to the profile. The skill he showed in trying to change his appearance meant that he took a great deal of consideration into it, but he didn't seem vain, not from how the women had described him, for him to listen to them meant that he didn't often talk of himself, so the vanity was not an issue, but it DID mean he noticed things about others. He had an eye for detail, he saw a lot of many other people…enough where he could blend in with them and not be noticed. They were looking for someone who wanted anonymity. It made Leena think of Sherlock, when he'd told her about how he'd dressed as a waiter to surprise John, it was someone that had experience in a job like that, service industry, where it was so generic that no one noticed you but you could notice others.

He had some sort of professional career, some sort of service, and he was very determined, very accurate. He took extreme care not to leave too much behind or get too deep. With each woman they could tell he was learning more and more. The one woman, Vicky, struck Leena as more the 'practice' stage, the one he contacted first and did so in such an anonymous way that she'd never be able to identify him. He got to know what women wanted through her…well, probably not exactly what women wanted, but if he could 'woo' her and get whatever information he wanted out of her…then there was a chance he'd be able to woo the others.

He practiced, he practiced what he was going to do and rehearsed his plans before implementing them in their final stage. And she could tell he was obsessive and driven, likely by a negative emotion such as hatred or anger or sorrow as the complete lack of care he showed to the women after that first evening was indicative that he had a foul purpose. It wasn't that he was married and covering up an affair, he'd have wanted sex if that were the case, or at least to form some sort of attachment to the victim, and he wouldn't have switched so often without having taken some physical aspect from it. Most men in an affair only kept to one women, maybe two at a time, not five within days or weeks of each other. No, this man was on a darker mission and wouldn't stop till…revenge, he was after revenge she'd determined.

But she just didn't know against who.

She hadn't exactly told Sherlock all of the profile as she went through it, she'd seen it on his face when John mentioned Mayfly Man, as they'd come to call him, being married. He thought the same, that it explained it all. But she had brought up her concerns that there was more th the Mayfly Man than they thought and gave her theories about his actions. But they'd both agreed, with the wedding only a day or so away at that point, that they both wanted to try and help get the last details done. Afterwards they'd focus back on the Mayfly Man and seeing what crimes he might be ready to commit.

And yet, of course, in true Sherlock fashion, he latched onto the fact of the marriage as he was now telling the rest of the crowd, having finished describing the case to them in reading John's blog, "Married. Obvious, really. Our Mayfly Man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity…"

Leena rolled her eyes at that, knowing that Sherlock was referring to what he called 'other marriages' because, as he told her at times when they were alone after Mrs. Hudson continuously brought up how marriage changed people, that it hadn't changed them since they were 10 years old and that it wouldn't change them in the future, because they'd always been a team, the only difference would be that they'd have rings on their fingers.

"And instead of endless nights in, watching the telly, or going to barbecues with awful dreadful boring people he couldn't stand," she laughed at that one, as though SHE would ever be caught watching the telly at all hours (she'd rather read) or going to barbeques, "He used his wits, cleverness and powers of disguise…to play the field. He was…" he trailed off a moment, looking down to see that he had lost the crowd. He glanced at Leena who offered him a small smile and shook her head, nodding at his phone, "On second thought," he nodded to himself, "I probably should have told you about the Elephant in the Room. However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me. I can read a crime scene, as Leena can read a criminal, the way he can understand a normal human being. I used to think that's what made us special, quite frankly, I still do. But a word to the wise…should any of you require the services of any of us, _I_ will solve your murder, Leena will identify your murderer, but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that, I should know. He's saved mine and Leena's so many times, and in so many ways," he held up the phone once more, "This blog is the story of two men and one woman, and their frankly ridiculous adventures. Of murder, mystery, and mayhem. But from now on, there's a new story…a bigger adventure," he turned to John and Mary again as Leena smiled and made her way back to the front table, "Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding," he held up his glass as Leena joined him, taking up her own glass while the crowd did the same, "Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson. The two reasons why every single one of us is…"

He froze a moment as the photographer snapped a picture and he dropped his glass, an epiphany striking him.

Hamish.

John's middle name.

The middle name he told NO ONE if he could help it!

Tessa had said John's name, she'd introduced him as John HAMISH Watson to the landlord. How had she known?! How did SHE know his middle name?! It had taken him everything, he'd guessed every H. name he could think of since seeing John's first blog posting as 'John H. Watson.' He'd guessed Henry and Humphrey and Higgins among a plethora of others…till he'd had Leena secure a copy of John's birth certificate and seen it said 'Hamish.' Well, there was Irene Adler, she knew, because John had blurted it out once. But god knew where she was and he didn't particularly care either way. So that meant there was only one other place that the woman could have seen it…

On the wedding invitation that read 'Dr. John Hamish Watson & Miss Mary Elizabeth Morstan request the pleasure of your company at their marriage.' It had taken some doing, to get John to agree to have his full name on the invitations, but they'd gotten him to agree. And Tessa! She'd even said to 'enjoy the wedding' as well! She knew! So how had she known? As far as he knew, and he knew quite a bit, Tessa had not been invited to the wedding, they didn't even know who Tessa was till after she'd become a client…

So that meant…she'd seen the invitation, she worked for someone who HAD an invitation to the wedding. And that narrowed it down significantly as there were barely 100 people invited which meant…Leena had been right, as she always was. They were looking for a man on a mission, a man swearing revenge on someone, and that man had used Tessa to find out about the wedding…it was far too much a coincidence for it to NOT be the purpose of one of the five women to have glimpsed a wedding invitation like that.

He knew it wasn't a coincidence, the universe was rarely so lazy as for that to happen. And, ever since meeting Leena he'd begun to think things happened with a reason, with a purpose behind them. It could have been a coincidence that he would be in the library the same time that she had been the day they'd begun their friendship…it COULD have been…had it not had anything to do with the fact that he'd noticed her going into the library of their main home for hours at a time each day and decided, one day, to be in there and see what she was doing as he heard her moving around far too much for her to be reading and there were too many books recently moved for the same purpose. Little had he known she HAD been reading them, or at least memorizing them so she could enjoy them once she bettered her English.

The balance of probability would say that someone went to great lengths to find out something about this wedding. Leena's profile matched perfectly with the personality type, they lied, assumed false identities, clearly done with criminal intent. It took intelligence, planning. And the most important detail…it meant that the Mayfly Man was…

"Here today," he whispered out loud as the glass smashed on the floor, pulling his attention down to it, "Ooh, sorry. I…" he cleared his throat and looked up.

'What is it?' Leena looked at him in concern.

"You were right," he said quickly to her under his breath as the Master of Ceremonies ran over to him.

"Another glass, sir?" the man asked, quickly handing him one as he moved to clean the glass up.

"Thank you, yes," Sherlock nodded, taking the glass, "Thank you, yes."

"The Mayfly Man then?" Leena hissed back at him.

He gave her a nod, his expression clear, 'Something is going to happen.'

She nodded and glanced around, moving to step back, as though appearing to give the waiters room to clear the glass but kept stepping back, making her way out to try and spot someone that fit the profile she'd made of him.

"Now, where were we?" Sherlock began, trying to think rapidly, his eyes on Leena though, now all too aware there was a man who used women and was there to, likely, murder someone else, and she was strolling among them. He had to be quick, he had their attention, he needed to hold it, he needed to stall. He cleared his throat again, "Ah, yes. Raising glasses and standing up. Very good. Thank you," he raised his other hand and dropped them slowly, "And down again."

The crowd glanced at each other but started to sit, Sherlock letting out a breath of relief to see them sit, to be able to see Leena standing behind them, his view of her clear again.

He put his glass down, "Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech, get off early, leave 'em laughing. Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now…" he hopped over the table quickly, "Part two. Part two is more action-based. I'm gonna…walk around, shake things up a bit," he made his way down the center aisle, looking every one over that he could, trying to deduce them all as rapidly as possible. He labeled each man, save the young Archie, as a potential Mayfly man…now he just had to narrow that down, "Who'd go to a wedding?" he spun on his heel, pointing at Leena, "That's the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding?"

"More people than you would think," she answered, knowing he was genuinely asking her to answer, not having a clue what most weddings were like being how he was, "Most people love a good wedding."

He nodded, taking that into consideration.

Leena glanced across the room, seeing John and Mary frowning in concern and confusion and gave John the briefest of nods. He stiffened, realizing something was wrong.

"And John's great, too!" Sherlock pointed back at him, "Haven't said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his…jumpers," he spun around, trying to look at at least half the room, knowing Leena was doing the same to the other half.

"Can't forget his cooking," Leena offered, trying to help, "He makes splendid peas."

"Might not be peas," Sherlock countered, "Might not be _him_. But he's got a great singing voice…or _somebody_ does," he started shaking his head, there were just… "Ahh, too many, too many, too many, too _many_!"

Leena quickly made her way through the tables and back to Sherlock, knowing that when he got frustrated that was when he started to really lose it and struggle to make the deductions that he could typically make so easily.

"Take a breath Sherwood," Leena whispered as she reached him, putting a hand on his arm, "Relax, please."

He looked at her sharply for that last word, before he nodded, taking a breath and shaking his head to make all his deductions that were crowding his head and making it harder to think disappear, "Sorry," he offered to her, before looking around, "Too many jokes about John! Now, er…where was I?" he looked at her again.

"Speech," she gave him a meaningful look, nodded him to the front.

He returned the nod, keep all eyes on him so no one would see her trying to profile them, "Speech," he agreed, "Let's talk about…" he clapped his hands, "Murder," he winced, seeing John and Mary frown, he hadn't wanted that to slip out and reveal what they were doing, but…he also DID want John aware something was going to happen, "Sorry, did I say 'murder'? I meant to say 'marriage,' but, you know, they're quite similar procedures when you think about it. The participants tend to know each other, and it's over when one of them's _dead._ In fairness, murder is a lot quicker, though."

"I'll help Jackie hide the body then," John called.

"Leena!" Sherlock spun to her even as he walked backwards, towards one of the male guests, "What about this one?" he glanced at the man, "More importantly, his girlfriend's wearing brand-new uncomfortable underwear and hasn't bothered to pick this thread off the top of his jacket…or point out the grease smudge on the back of his neck. Currently, he's going home alone?"

Leena looked over and shook her head, "Details Sherwood."

He nodded, the Mayfly Man would have more care in his appearance than that, blend in more than to arrive with a date.

"Also, he's a comics and sci-fi geek," Sherlock had to agree, "They're always tremendously grateful, really put the hours in," he looked at Lestrade, "Geoff, the gents," he jerked a nod to the doors, "The loos, now, please."

"It's _Greg_," Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"The loos, please."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's your _turn_."

Leena side and made her way to him, whispering in his ear, "We need you to lock this place down…there may be a murderer here."

Lestrade jerked, turning in his chair to look at her intently, as she gave him a nudge, "Yeah," he glanced at Sherlock, getting up, "Actually, now you mention it…"and rushed out of the room, normally he wouldn't have done something like that…but if LEENA was agreeing he needed to get out of there and lock the place up…she was a profiler, she spotted criminals for a living. He trusted her when she said there was someone in there about to do something drastic.

"Sherlock," John called, "Any chance of a…an end date for this speech? Gotta cut the cake."

"Oh!" Sherlock tried to play it off as he made his way back to the center aisle, glancing at Leena who shook her head, not spotting the killer yet "Ladies and gentlemen, can't stand it when _I_ finally get the chance to speak for once, Vatican Cameos."

John stiffened at that, "What did he say?" Mary whispered to him, "What's that mean?"

"Battle stations," John remarked equally as quiet, "Someone's gonna die."

"What?!"

"Mary," John nodded at Leena, who had heard her exclamation and put a finger to her lips to quiet the woman.

Sherlock looked around, trying to help narrow down the search, his face scrunching almost in pain as he tried to rapidly deduce all the men he could. Leena swallowed hard and made her way back to him, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly just a moment before he went to slap himself with it, knowing it would alarm the guests and make the Mayfly Man even more aware that they were aware if he wasn't aware already.

She blinked, she really needed to work on not confusing herself in the process of thinking.

"Focus Locksley," she whispered to him, squeezing his hand, "Leave the man to me, eh?" she looked at him, "You know our teamwork, I define the criminal…"

"I define the victim and the scene…" he nodded, looking around, and they were in the scene right that moment, there was only one other person to be determined…the victim.

"So find him," she nodded.

"You!" Sherlock spun around, pointing at John as he turned and walked towards the table, leaving Leena in the middle of the room to look around, "It's always you. John Watson, you keep me right. Well, you and Leena," he made his way right up to the table.

"What do I do?" John stood.

"Well, you've already done it. Don't solve the murder. Save the life," he spun around again, grinning widely, "Sorry. Off-piste a bit. Back now. Let's play a game," he clapped his hands, "Let's play Murder."

"Sherlock…" Mrs. Hudson began as he prowled into the room, back towards Leena.

But Sherlock just ignored her, "Imagine someone's going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?"

"I think _you're_ a popular choice at the moment, dear."

"If someone could move Mrs Hudson's glass just slightly out of…" he trailed off, seeing Leena had stepped past him to do that already, "Lovely," he smiled at her, "More importantly," he reached out and took her hand, tugging her closer, asking HER his questions, he always thought better when she was in sight, because…he always thought faster, tried to impress her, when she was there, "Who could you _only_ kill at a wedding?"

"Someone who wouldn't be found other places," she answered, knowing that some people didn't go out much. Like her, for example, if someone had wanted to kill her during the 2 years, they'd have to find her at 221B Baker Street, or the Yard, for the most part, and then only 221B…unless John called her for lunch or tea with Mary. During those moments, tea with them, would have been an opportune time for someone to off her, because that was the only time she really left the flat in that time.

"Most people you can kill any old place," he agreed, "As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues…John I'd poison."

"Quick eaters ARE rather easy," Leena commented, actually shocking quite a few of the guests who'd actually thought she was normal…if not for the fact she was engaged to a sociopath apparently, "They consume their food too quickly to notice there's something wrong with it, hardly taste the difference…"

"I've given him chemicals and compounds," Sherlock nodded, "That way, he's never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue. Mrs. Hudson, well, one need only drop something in the drink."

"And Molly could be locked in the morgue with gas seeping in from the vents."

"Lestrade's so easy to kill, it's a miracle no one's succumbed to the temptation."

"It is a bit more easy when one is out of the office and all about London as often as he is. That or wait till he sneaks a cigarette in the parking garages."

Lestrade stiffened, not having realized he was THAT easy to kill if even Leena knew…oh, well, actually, thinking about that and how it was her job to, at times, think like the criminal at hand, he could imagine she'd pictured that. Especially when Moriarty had been after them all.

"I've got a pair of keys to my brother's house, I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him," he made a strangling gesture with his hand.

"No, smothering would be easier," Leena shook her head, "He wouldn't be able to see you to try and claw at you."

John cleared his throat and the two looked over, seeing every single person in the room staring at them with wide eyes, "Right," she winced, "Went a bit too far there."

"We were just speaking generally," Sherlock defended weakly, "If…if the whim arose."

"He's pissed, isn't he?" they heard Tom whisper…moments before Molly stabbed him in the back of the hand with a fork.

"There, you see," Leena pointed, "Molly's even imagined how to kill Tom, she could have picked the knife."

Tom's eyes widened as he looked at her and then the fork, as though it were a slip of some sort that she'd taken the fork first instead of the knife, as though she'd actually imagined using the fork instead.

"So, once again, who could you only kill _here_?" Sherlock asked, looking back at Leena. It wasn't lost on any of them, as he gazed at his fiancé, that she was the one person that close to him that he hadn't mentioned thinking of how to kill and vice versa.

They looked around the room, Leena still trying to spot the Mayfly Man while Sherlock looked for the victim, if they could find that, they'd be able to get to him and protect him…possibly use him as bait at one point or another…but also protect him, yes.

"It has to be an opportunity he couldn't miss seizing," Leena mumbled.

"So it's someone who doesn't get out much," Sherlock nodded, "Someone for whom a planned social encounter known about months in advance is an exception. Has to be a unique opportunity…"

"Someone they couldn't kill in public or private…"

"Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then," he agreed, "Someone private, perhaps, obsessed with personal security…" he trailed off, his gaze focusing on Major Sholto, "Possibly someone under threat."

He glanced at Leena who followed his gaze, both of them thinking of what John had once told them, that the man, after the attack, had gotten a tremendous amount of death threats from the families of the fallen soldiers, a man who had moved out into the middle of nowhere to escape the press and the dishonor that came with the event.

"Ooh," Sherlock moved over to a table, taking a place card off of it, jotting down a small note on it as he ambled around, Leena moving as well, to the other side, making it seem as though they were still looking for the man, "A recluse, small household staff," that explained the five women, they all had, at one point, worked for Sholto, "High turnover for additional security," which explained the temp agency, "Probably all signed confidentiality agreements," he added, him and Leena passing each other to head to opposite sides of the room, allowing him to casually drop the card before Sholto with no one to see it, "There is another question that remains, however…a big one, a huge one…how would you do it? How would you kill someone in public?"

Leena glanced over, seeing Sholto picking up the card, already knowing what it said, 'It's YOU.'

"There has to be a way," Sherlock continued, "This has been planned…"

"Mr. Holmes!" Archie jumped up, excited, "Mr. Holmes!"

"Oh, hello again, Archie," he turned to the boy, "What's your theory? Get this right and there's a headless nun in it for you."

"The invisible man could do it!"

"The who, the what, the why, the when, the where?"

"The invisible man with the invisible knife. The one who tried to kill the Guardsman!"

Sherlock straightened, blinking at that…it…made sense. It made perfect sense! What's more…it would add to Leena's profile as well. It was…the Mayfly Man was implementing the same sort of to-do list as would be found at a wedding. He'd examined the venue, in the barracks, he'd planned it out by stalking Bainbridge, he'd rehearsed the death as he was clearly going to kill Sholto the same way as Bainbridge had nearly been (whatever way that was)…and that was when it hit him.

The Mayfly Man had used Bainbridge as a rehearsal for the murder of Sholto.

Leena looked over as Sholto stood and made his way out of the room, before Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at her, "Not just planned. Planned and rehearsed. Bainbridge," he murmured to her as her eyes widened.

"We need to help him then," she whispered back.

He nodded, taking her hand and rushing with her to the head table, swiping up a glass of champagne before he spun to the guests, "Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a short interlude," he lifted the glass, "The bride and groom!"

He waited till the crowd stood to toast the same, "The bride and groom," before he turned to John.

"It's Major Sholto John," Leena told him.

"He's going to be murdered," Sherlock added, "We don't know how or by whom, but it's going to happen."

"Come on then!" Leena pulled him back, leading him through the crowd to the door Sholto had left through, "Sorry, excuse me!" she called pushing their way through, followed quickly by John and then Mary, much to the confusion of the crowd.

"Hold on!" Sherlock shouted as they made it halfway up the steps, "I don't remember the room!" he closed his eyes, his face screwing up in concentration as he tried to remember it.

"Jacks?" John turned to her, there being no time to spare.

"I dunno!" she shook her head.

"How can neither of you remember which room? You remember everything!"

"I didn't get a chance to see the room roster!" Leena defended, if she had, she'd have remembered the room Sholto was in.

"I have to delete something!" Sherlock snapped.

"207!" Mary told them as she ran up the stairs, grabbing John's hand as she passed him to pull him on, the four of them rushing down the hall to Room 207, Sherlock trying the handle but it was locked.

"Major Sholto?" Leena banged on the door, "Major Sholto!"

"If someone's about to make an attempt on my life, it won't be the first time," they heard his muffled reply through the door, "I'm ready."

"Major, let us in," John tried as well.

"Kick the door down!" Mary shouted.

"I really wouldn't," Sholto warned, just as John moved to do just that, "I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes."

"You're not safe in there," Sherlock countered, "Whoever's after you, we know that a locked room doesn't stop him."

"The invisible man with the invisible knife."

"I don't know how he does it, so I can't stop him, and that means he'll do it again."

"Solve it, then."

Sherlock blinked, "I...I'm sorry?"

"You're the famous Mr. Holmes. Solve the case. On you go. Tell me how he did it and I'll open the door."

"Please, this is no time for games," John tried again, "Just let us in! You're in danger!"

"So are you, so long as you're here. Please, leave me. Despite my reputation, I _really_ don't approve of collateral damage."

"Solve it," Mary called to the pacing Sherlock.

"Sorry?" he glanced at her.

"Solve it, and he'll open the door, like he said."

"If I couldn't solve it before, how can I solve it now?"

"Because it matters now."

"What are you talking about?" he glanced at John, "What's she talking about? Get your wife under control."

"She's right," John murmured.

"Oh, _you've_ changed!"

"No, she is," he turned and pointed at Sherlock, "Shut up. You are not a puzzle-solver, you never have been. You're a drama queen," Sherlock's mouth dropped open at that as Leena stifled a giggle at his expression, "Now, there is a man in there about to die. 'The game is on,'" he mimicked Sherlock sarcastically, before shouting and point at the door, "Solve it!"

"You've also got the profile Sherwood," Leena added, "The Mayfly Man and the Stalker are the same person…use the profile! What is the Stalker doing the same as the Mayfly Man? What's the same?"

Sherlock looked down before his eyes widened, it had nothing to do with the Mayfly Man and the Stalker, but with Sholto and Bainbridge! Both men were wearing similar uniforms, both with a tight white belt high on their hips…and then he remembered, the small fine cut in Bainbridge, the skewer the one waiter had been pulling out of the roast beef…how the blood and juice came out of the very…fine…hole.

"You are wonderful!" he turned to Leena, kissing her quickly, before pointing at Mary, "In fairness, he's a drama queen too."

"Yeah, I know," Mary laughed.

But Sherlock turned to the door, "Major Sholto, no one's coming to kill you. I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago."

"What did you say?" Sholto called.

"Don't take off your belt."

"My belt?"

Leena's eyes widened, "Oh my god…"

Sherlock pointed at her a moment before speaking to Sholto once more, "His belt, yes. Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him, but it was through his belt. Tight belt, worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade through the fabric and you wouldn't even feel it."

John started nodded, understanding, "The-the belt would bind the flesh together when it was tied tight and when you took it off…"

"Delayed action stabbing."

"Which gives anyone ample time to make an alibi," Leena breathed.

"Major Sholto?" Sherlock shook the handle, trying to get in.

"So," they could hear Sholto speaking quietly, "I was to be killed by my uniform. How appropriate."

"He solved the case, Major," Mary moved to the door, "You're supposed to open the door now. A deal is a deal."

"I'm not even supposed to _have_ this any more. They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn't imagine life out of this uniform. I suppose, given the circumstances, I don't _have_ to. When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue."

"Whatever you're doing in there, James, stop it, right now," John pounded on the door, "I will kick this door down."

"Mr. Holmes," Sholto continued, ignoring John, "You and I are similar, I think."

"Yes, I think we are," Sherlock agreed.

"There's a proper time to die, isn't there?"

"Of course there is."

"And one should embrace it when it comes, like a soldier."

"Like hell you should," Leena nudged Sherlock to the side only slightly, just so she could call through the door easier, "When death comes, Major, you FIGHT it, you fight it like a soldier and you don't _ever_ stop. Do you hear me?" she pounded on the door, "There is a time to die, but it will NEVER be the right time for everyone else you are leaving behind. And I swear to god, if you do this now you will utterly RUIN what should be the happiest day of John's life."

"And we wouldn't do that, would we?" Sherlock added, though his gaze was on Leena for her outburst, "You and me? We would _never_ do that to John Watson on his wedding day."

They were all quiet for a moment, listening…but there was nothing from the room, "I'm gonna break it down," John moved to pull Sherlock and Leena away.

"No, wait, wait, you won't have to!" Mary grabbed his arm, hearing something.

A moment later…the door opened and Sholto was standing there, his head bowed, "I believe I am in need of medical attention."

John straightened, "I believe I am your doctor," he stated, before heading into the room, giving Sherlock and Leena a smile as he followed Sholto in, Mary with him.

Leena let out a breath, pleased that the 'murder' had been avoided...only to gasp when she felt herself tugged into Sherlock's arms and...hugged. She blinked, smiling as she hugged him back, "Not that I'm not thoroughly enjoying this...but...what brought it on?" she looked up at him.

Sherlock just looked at her seriously, "I'm sorry Jacqueline," he murmured, gazing into her eyes, truly the most serious she'd ever seen him, "For what I put you and John through."

She nodded slowly to herself, realizing that her small slip in what she'd shouted at Sholto had been enough for him to realize that, despite understanding and being ok now...she was still having issues dealing with what he'd done, "I know," she looked at him again, "I DO understand Locksley but..."

"It will take time," he cut in gently, understanding, "But Leena..." he took her hand, "I swear to you...I will _never_ leave you again."

She smiled at him for that, "I know you won't," she told him, before poking him gently, "Because if you ever tried again I would hunt you down Sherlock."

He gave a soft chuckle at that, lifting her hand to kiss it softly, before they turned to head into Sholto's room, seeing if they could help more than they already had.

~8~

Leena laughed as Sherlock counted for them, the two of them waltzing alone in a small foyer of the venue, able to hear the small band that had been hired playing a waltz in the next room, "What did you see?" he inquired.

"When?" Leena looked up at him.

"When I was reading the telegrams, you saw something."

She nodded, sighing, "Mary...she was frightened when you read the one from CAM," she gave him a meaningful look, "She was terrified. She knows who it is just as well as we do. He's probably got something on her and she's worried."

Sherlock nodded, "We'll have to see about that then."

She smiled at that, tilting her head as a question came to her as well, "Why are we out here Locksley? It's not like we need the practice, we've been dancing the waltz since we were 12."

"Because we are about to dance together in public," he remarked, turning her.

"Yes, and?"

"And I'd like to dance together alone first," he remarked sensibly, "I've had to share you all day with everyone else, I just…want this moment with you alone."

She looked at him with a soft smile on her face, "Well, just think, Mrs. Hudson'll probably be off with her date…"

"Yes."

"And John's moved out with Mary and they'll be on their honeymoon to France in a few hours, not coming back for two weeks…"

"Yes?" he gave her an odd look.

"We'll be all alone all night," she winked at him.

"I like the sound of that," he murmured, looking into her eyes as they continued their waltz, not even realizing that the music had stopped, "Would it be…wrong, to admit that I have, at times, regretted the two of us accepting these roles?"

She blinked at that, "I don't think it would be wrong, if the context suits the regret."

He nodded, pulling her ever so slightly closer, leaning in so his head was beside hers, his lips by her ear, "I am regretting the fact that I have to stand here, as Best Man, not making a fuss when the other guests observed you in your dress," he pulled back to look at her appreciatively, "Lilac suits you."

"I prefer silver," she remarked, "I must admit though, I'm rather grateful that Mary chose lilac as a color instead of a deeper purple like that shirt of yours," she gently ran a finger up the vest of his suit, "I too regret I've had to stand there and not make a scene with all the women eyeing you…"

"Eyeing ME?" he scoffed, "I think you may be confusing them with the men who couldn't stop staring at YOU."

"Hardly," she laughed, "All the women we've ever met stare at you Locksley, and they'd fawn over you too if you kept your mouth shut, what with your cheekbones and your putting your collar up," she nudged him mid-dance in reminder of John's words in the past.

"You're equally bad with that fitted dress," he countered, "And your hair pulled back just so, exposing your shoulders," he let his hand ghost closer to her shoulder in a turn.

"We're both guilty then," she decided, "Let's agree on that. We're both too devilishly handsome…"

"And startlingly beautiful," he added, his voice low, smirking when he saw her blushing at the full and outright compliment that he rarely ever gave.

"For our own good and we shall just have to bear this cross and pray our patience with the human race lasts long enough for us not to kill all," she finished with a joking roll of her eyes.

"Must we pray for patience?" he mock-pouted.

She laughed, "We must," she nodded, "A handful of the human race are our friends," her smile widened when she saw him not contradicting that statement, that they had more friends than just John and Mary.

Sherlock tugged her closer again, resting his head to hers once more, "Do you remember when I taught you this waltz."

She let out a groan at that and shook her head against his, "I was rubbish!"

She really had been, two left feet she had when she was trying to dance. It was funny, she could run and turn and balance on things when she needed to…but try to dance and she ended up standing on feet and breaking toes and turning the wrong way. It was like she could memorize the steps, and she had done EXTENSIVE research for the waltz to prepare to dance with Sherlock when there had been a small party that he had to go to and he'd asked her to go with him as well, not having wanted to endure the night alone.

She'd had to dance. And he'd had to teach her. She'd SO wanted to impress him and be a good student, which was why she understood when he tried to do that for her and impress her. She'd failed miserably. She hadn't been able to connect the steps she'd put in her head with the steps her body had to do. She really had broken his pinky toe she'd stepped on his feet so many times. It had gotten so bad that, at the party, Sherlock had just had her stand on his feet as he led her in the dance. Luckily her dress had been long enough to cover her feet so no one else saw.

But she'd been determined after that to learn how to waltz so she wouldn't be an embarrassment to him afterwards. She'd actually scared him quite a bit with how vehement she'd been that she learn the steps and he teach her. After she'd nearly broken her own leg he'd finally realized that something was wrong and sat her down about it. He'd laughed when she'd told him she didn't want to embarrass him with her terrible dancing. She'd gotten upset, it had been before they'd gotten close enough to really know each other's thoughts, and had just brought up how his own family embarrassed him just standing there and SHE had embarrassed him with her dancing.

In a rather sweet and kind moment, he'd explained that she hadn't embarrassed him, no one could ever embarrass him more than his family and…he honestly hadn't noticed if she'd botched the dance at all. Which had surprised her, because, as far as she could tell, he wasn't lying about that, he really hadn't noticed. That was odd because he noticed everything. He'd promised her that, if she wanted to learn, he'd teach her the waltz, and he'd dance with her at every dance they had to attend. He'd remarked in passing that he had enjoyed dancing with her, even if she was standing on his feet in the process.

It had taken her three months but she'd finally gotten the basics, and now she could dance quite a few waltz-based dances.

"You still are," he joked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"We'll YOU are just brilliant," she laughed, pulling away and looking at him.

"I love dancing," he murmured, "I've always loved it."

"Oh go on," she stepped back, "Give us a turn!"

He grinned and braced himself, before doing a rather lovely pirouette on his left foot and finishing perfectly as she clapped. He cleared his throat and straightened his suit, "Never comes up in crime work as often as I'd hoped…"

"Well it came up now," she walked back over to him, him reaching out a hand to pull her back, resuming their dance as though they'd never stopped, the two of them just looking at each other as they moved…

"You_ do_ know the music's stopped playing five minutes ago?" a voice said behind them. They looked over to see John leaning against the door frame, smirking at them with his arms crossed, "Well, glad to see you've pulled, Sherlock, what with murderers running riot at my wedding."

"It was ONE murder John," Leena laughed.

"One nearly murderer," Sherlock sighed at that, disappointed.

"Sherlock?" they looked over as the door opened and Lestrade walked in, "Got him for you."

Sherlock clapped his hands together as the photographer was led in, "Ah, the photographer. Excellent!"

Leena rolled her eyes, "Thank you Greg," she offered for Sherlock, who just walked over to the man and pointed at the camera.

"Er, may I have a look at your camera?" Sherlock asked the photographer.

"Er..." the man nodded, handing it over nervously, "What's this about? I was halfway home!"

"No you weren't," Leena remarked, leaning over Sherlock's arm to look at the photos as he moved through them, "You live farther away than that."

"You should have driven faster," Sherlock agreed, smirking as he saw the man stiffen, clearly he hadn't expected them to know where he lived…because that meant they knew WHO he was and why, exactly, he was there, "Ah, yes," Sherlock nodded at the photos, "Yes, very good. There, you see?" he smiled, showing Leena an image of herself, taken just as they were walking into reception, the two of them looking at each other, captured in a moment, "Perfect," he whispered to her.

"What is?" Lestrade rolled his eyes, "You gonna tell us?"

"Try looking yourself," was all Sherlock said as he offered the camera to Lestrade.

"Um, look for what?" John frowned, moving to Lestrade's side to look at the photos…but they were just photos, "Is the murderer in these photographs?"

"Nope," Leena shrugged as Sherlock slowly made his way over closer to the photographer.

"It's not what's in the photographs," Sherlock agreed, "It's what's not in them, not in any of them."

"Sherlock?" John sighed, "The showing-off thing…we've discussed it before."

"And when it gets old for Leena, then I'll stop," Sherlock waved him off, "There is always a man at a wedding who is not in any photograph but can go anywhere, and even carry an equipment bag around with him if he likes, and you never even see his face…" he glanced at the photographer's hand, "You only ever see..." and grabbed the man's hand, quickly handcuffing him to a luggage cart beside him, "The camera," he smirked.

The photographer struggled, trying to tug his wrist free, "What are you doing? What is this?"

Leena just held up her phone, "Sherwood and I divided the guest list," she told the man, "And the staff that would be helping. You didn't _really_ think we weren't aware of every person that would be working this venue did you? We hired the photographer and you, Jonathan Small, are not the one we hired. You HAD to have known we'd run a search of you," she handed her phone to John to see what she'd discovered.

"It would appear that today's substitute wedding photographer," Sherlock continued, "Is also our Mayfly Man."

"His brother was one of Sholto's recruits," she added to John, "He wanted revenge."

"Yes," Sherlock tsked Small as he glared at them, "You probably should have realized that a consulting detective and a profiler would work that out," he smirked, spinning around to explain more to John and the startled Lestrade, "He worked his way through Sholto's staff, found what he needed, an invitation to a wedding."

"I'm sorry John," Leena moved over to put a hand on his arm as he realized what they were getting at, that it was Sholto attending the wedding for HIM that had made him vulnerable to the attack, "He knew that Sholto would only appear in public if it was for a dear friend…"

"So, he made his plan," Sherlock continued, "And rehearsed the murder, making sure of every last detail."

"HE was the one stalking Bainbridge, he used Bainbridge as practice, to see if he'd be able to kill Sholto without being noticed or targeted."

"He killed Bainbridge the very same way," Sherlock nodded, "Using the similar uniforms to practice. He positioned Sholto into the wedding photos and took his chance," he glanced at Small, "Brilliant, ruthless, almost certainly a monomaniac, though, in fairness, his photographs are actually quite good."

"My phone has everything you need Greg," Leena added, taking it back, "I'm sending you the details now..."

Lestrade nodded just as Mary ran into the room, having been looking for John, "Come on, quick," she cheered, grabbing his hand and trying to tug him, but John remained staring at Small.

"It's not me you should be arresting, Mr. Holmes," Small spoke, glaring at Sherlock.

"Oh, I don't do the arresting," Sherlock nodded at Lestrade, "I just farm that out."

"Sholto, HE'S the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker," he grinned for a moment before shaking his head, "I shouldn't have tried to be clever."

Leena frowned at him, "You shouldn't have tried to be _Sherlock_," she countered, "Because if anyone could work out a murder like that…it WOULD be Sherlock."

"Like I said," Sherlock smirked, "You should have driven faster."

"And it still wouldn't have saved you," Leena shook her head at him, before blinking as though just noticing Mary there, "Now, come on," she tugged Sherlock on, "We have a rather important dance to see to."

~8~

Leena and Sherlock stood on a small platform, Sherlock playing his violin, Leena sitting at a small piano, both playing the song that Sherlock had composed for the couple himself. She had taken lessons on the piano as a child, as many seemed to do, had stuck with it for two or three years before she decided on other things that interested her more. She had been determined to remember how to play for the wedding. When she'd found Sherlock composing for the first dance of the bride and groom she'd offered to accompany him on the piano if he'd like. He'd been rather happy she'd offered as the tune he was imagining sounded best with a second instrument in the background. That was one benefit of her memory, she still remembered all the notes and the songs she used to play. It had taken her some doing, but she'd managed to recall enough to help with the song, to be able to play softly along with Sherlock just for Mary and John.

The happy couple were currently waltzing around the room, not really a true waltz but more a slow dance of sorts to the violin and piano, their guests gathered around the edges of the room, creating a small circle for the couple to dance on. They all started to clap and cheer as the song drew to a close and John dipped Mary gently, kissing her as the song finished.

Sherlock and Leena took a moment to just…enjoy the moment and the sight of their two good friends so happy and thrilled and taking pride in knowing it was THEM that had something to do with that happiness, before they turned to their music. Sherlock reached down for his small corsage that he'd taken off to play the violin, when two small hands took the flower from him. He looked over to see Leena standing before him as she smiled and pinned the flower back onto his lapel.

"Time for the big finish," she murmured to him, patting his lapel.

He nodded, taking a breath, knowing it meant even more people looking at him now, but moved over to the microphone he'd been playing into and tapped it to gain everyone's attention, "Ladies and gentlemen, just, er, one last thing before the evening begins properly. Apologies for earlier. A crisis arose and was dealt with. More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I've never made a vow in my life to anyone besides my own fiancé," he looked at Leena smiling, recalling the…multitude of promises he'd made her in his life, the promises he'd done his level best to keep, "And after tonight I never will again. So," he turned back to John and Mary, "Here, in front of you all, my first and last vow. Mary and John, whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on, I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you."

Leena's eyes widened at that as he too froze in horror at what he'd just let slip, and rushed to the microphone, "He meant the _two_ of you," she said quickly, "Both of you. The um…three of _us_?" she glanced at Sherlock, trying to play it off as he was including HER in that vow.

"Yes, I've just miscounted," Sherlock nodded, though they could see it, while the crowd believed it…John and Mary knew them both well enough to know something was off, "Anyway, it's time for dancing," he turned quickly to look over his shoulder, "Play the music again, please, thank you," he let out a breath as a rather fast paced and energetic song began to play, the lights dimming and disco lights turning on, flashing all over the place, "Ok, everybody, just dance. Don't be shy!"

"Come on," Leena whispered to him, him able to hear her as she was right beside him despite the noise and the volume of the music. She gently took his hand and tugged him down off the platform and into the crowd, over to John and Mary who were just standing there despite the crowd starting to dance now.

"Sorry," Sherlock offered to them as they approached, "That was one more deduction than I was really expecting."

"Deduction?" Mary stared at him.

"Mary…" Leena began, resting a hand on Sherlock's arm to signal he should let her handle this one, being a woman and with his natural slightly insulting personality, and with it being the wedding and Mary clearly already shocked…it really was best that she explain what he meant, "You've been hungrier lately, and your tastes have changed like with the wine, you called me just this morning because you were ill and worried you were coming down with something. At first I thought it was nerves but…then you snapped at me about it," she laughed, reassuring Mary she understood, "You REALLY wanted to marry John so it wasn't that…it's all there…"

"What is?"

"The signs of three," Sherlock stated, glancing at Mary's stomach.

Mary blinked, "What?"

"Mary…" Leena reached out to squeeze her hand, "Before you head out on your honeymoon…you should do a pregnancy test."

"Yes, um, the statistics for the first trimester are…" Sherlock began, trying to help as he saw John nearly hyperventilating.

"Shut up," John pointed at him warningly, "Just…shut up."

"Sorry."

"How did _they_ notice before me?" John looked at Mary, "I'm a bloody doctor."

"Well, I've been around a pregnant woman before," Leena shrugged, thinking of JJ.

"And it's your day off," Sherlock added.

"It's _your_ day off!" John countered to him, starting to get frantic again.

"John, calm down…" Leena tried to speak.

"Yes…stop-stop panicking," Sherlock agreed.

"I'm not panicking!" John shouted, clearly yes he WAS panicking.

"I'm pregnant," Mary breathed, "_I'm_ panicking."

"Don't," Leena squeezed her hand, "Just…breathe…he he hoo."

"Absolutely no reason to panic," Sherlock looked at their horrified faces.

"Oh, and you'd know, of course?" John looked at him.

"Yes, I _would_," he rolled his eyes, "You're already the best parents in the world. Look at all the practice you've had!"

"What practice?"

Leena just cleared her throat and nodded at Sherlock.

"You're hardly gonna need _me_ around now that you've got a _real_ baby on the way," Sherlock told them.

"Leaves him more time with me," Leena linked her arm through Sherlock's as John and Mary looked at each other and then at Sherlock, grinning widely before they started to laugh and smile.

"You alright?" John looked at Mary as they took a breath.

"Yeah," Mary nodded.

"Well then go dance already," Leena nudged them.

"What?" John looked at her.

"Both of you, now, go dance," Sherlock spoke a bit louder, over the music so they could hear, "We can't just stand here. People will wonder what we're talking about."

"Right," John nodded, but he still just stood there stunned.

"Come on, husband," Mary pulled him off, "Let's go."

"This isn't a waltz, is it?"

"Don't worry, Mary, I _have_ been tutoring him," Sherlock joked.

"He _did_, you know," John told her, "Baker Street, behind closed curtains."

"He wasn't quite as bad as Leena was."

"Oi!" Leena laughed, nudging him for that as he turned and headed back to the music sheets while she called after Mary, "Mrs Hudson walked into the middle of it," she smiled, "You can guess how THOSE rumors got started again."

Mary let out a happy laugh and disappeared in the crowd with John, the two of them dancing away as Leena watched for a moment. She took a breath, just looking around at all the people dancing and having fun, celebrating the love that John and Mary had found in each other. And speaking of love…

She turned around to see Sherlock placing the sheet music into an envelope for John and Mary and placing it on the stand before he made his way off the platform…and headed for the doors.

"Oh no you don't Sherlock Holmes," she murmured, weaving her way through the crowd and moving in front of him just before he could reach the doors, "Going somewhere Locksley?" she crossed her arms and gave him a look.

"I…was…" he blinked a bit, starting to see her smile, "I have no excuse."

"The crowd was getting to you, wasn't it?" she guessed knowingly, he didn't even have to say it or admit it, she knew what he was like, he had difficulty in large groups, with loud noises like the music, the flashing lights, it was disorienting to him.

He let out a breath, knowing there was no point in lying to her when she already knew, "A bit yes."

"And you were going to leave without me?" she teased, "Sorry Sherwood, but you're gonna be stuck with me for a long, long, long, long, LONG time."

"I'm not entirely fond of that word," he remarked.

"Oh?"

"No, I rather prefer the sound of…forever instead."

She smiled softly at that, "Well, if we're to be stuck with each other forever...we have to stay. You're stuck with me and I can't just let us walk out on John and Mary's wedding till it's over, we're still the Best Man and Maid of Honor," she reminded him, "So…" she stepped closer, "Utilize your speech technique," he gave her a look for a moment, slightly confused, "Eyes on me Locksley," she winked, before pulling him back into the crowd, turning around to start dancing with him, keeping her eyes locked on his as he slowly started to move as well, the crowd falling away from around them as they danced together…

~8~

They'd danced for hours, well not straight through, but quite a bit of the rest of the reception they'd spent together on the dance floor or at their table. Lestrade, Leena was sure, had filmed some of it on his phone, never having thought he'd see the great Sherlock Holmes dancing in the middle of a crowd. But, when the night had started to come to a close, the songs slowing as more and more of the guests departed, he'd stopped. Because as the reception slowly ended, the songs became more intimate, softer, slower, and Sherlock and Leena grew closer as they danced. By the last song it felt more like a private moment between the two of them that no one was meant to intrude on and Lestrade couldn't bring himself to film that.

By the very end of the night, the only ones left were the two of them, John and Mary of course, Lestrade, Molly (and Tom), and Mrs. Hudson.

And that was EXACTLY what John and Mary wanted as they glanced at each other and shared a private smile. Lestrade and the others had no idea why the two were grinning so widely, so they fell very quiet when Mary and John walked over to Sherlock and Leena as the two swayed, their eyes closed, just…moving together.

"Jackie?" Mary reached out and gently tapped her on the shoulder, pulling her and Sherlock from their moment, "Sorry but…John and I, before we head off…there was something we wanted to give you and Sherlock, for all your help."

Leena frowned at that, "What?" she hadn't thought that would happen, she and Sherlock had been happy to help.

But John and Mary were silent.

"Well?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, "What is it?"

"A wedding," John smiled at them, seeing them both stiffen at that and blink, looking very much alike.

"A…what?"

"A wedding," he repeated, "YOUR wedding actually."

Leena shook her head, blinking rapidly, "But…but…we…we can't," she looked at Mary, "Mary this is YOUR day, not ours."

"It was my day yesterday," Mary countered with a smile, glancing at a watch on John's wrist, "7 minutes ago really," before she looked at Leena, "It's tomorrow already, it's not MY day anymore."

"You can't be serious though…"

"We are," John nodded, "We are very serious. It's all planned actually and…we're all here."

"But…"

"Jackie," Mary cut in gently, reaching out to take the girl's hand, "You helped me with my wedding…I took care of yours as well. Look," she nodded out the window, "It's night, the stars are out and it's just chilly enough for the gown you found which I bought when you weren't looking," she spoke quickly, seeing Leena and Sherlock completely stunned, "There's a gazebo just there," she pointed and they could make one out a few feet away, "You said you didn't want a church wedding…"

"So Mycroft got ordained," John added.

"Mycroft?!" Sherlock rounded on him, THAT seemed to shake Sherlock at least out of his shock, Leena was just standing there still blinking, doing a rather good impersonation of Sherlock when John had told him he was the best man…except Sherlock hadn't blinked.

"Yes," a voice drawled behind them.

Sherlock and Leena stiffened and slowly turned, Leena gasping, her hands flying to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears to see who was standing there. Everyone, everyone that they would have wanted there that weren't there for John's wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, even Mycroft, with her team from the BAU…her parents, god rest their souls, had died two years before she'd gone to America.

"Oh my god…" Leena breathed, shaking her head as she stared at them all…they were there, they were REALLY there.

"We've um…got your outfits," John added, "Hid them in our own bedrooms. Had the caterers prepare a small cake just like the ones Sherlock complained least about when you did your first tasting…"

Leena looked at the people in the room, it was literally everyone they'd wanted there for the wedding, it…it really WAS perfect, the gazebo, the night, the guests, it was everything she'd told Mary that she and Sherlock had wanted in a wedding…

"Please," Mary squeezed her hand, "Our boys are…" she shook her head, unable to figure out how to describe them, "But do you really think they'd let their weddings be too far apart?"

"No," Leena let out a sort of laughing breath at that, they wouldn't. In such a short time, John and Sherlock had become such close friends…they were remarkably close, she really…she really couldn't think of a more perfect date to have her wedding, it would make them all the more close for it, all of them.

"And besides," Mary started to sniffle, resting a hand on her own stomach, "You and Sherlock said you'd wait…well, call me selfish, but I'd like whatever this is," she patted her stomach, boy or girl she didn't care, she just wanted it to have a happy healthy life, "To have a mate."

Leena laughed at that, tears in her eyes, "Their children WOULD be best friends."

"So…you'll do it?" John asked.

"Well it would be a waste of time and money for them to have flown halfway around the world for dinner," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Leena let out a laugh at that, everyone staring at her as though she'd gone mad given what Sherlock had said, but she shook her head, "He's agreeing," she told them, interpreting his Sherlockish for them, "He's saying…yes…we'll do it."

"Then WE," Penny Garcia squealed as she rushed at Leena, "Need to get you ready for your wedding AJ."

Leena laughed at that, having only a moment to look at Sherlock before she was swarmed by Molly, Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes, Emily Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia and half dragged out of the room as John clapped Sherlock on the shoulder and led him the opposite way.

She let out a breath, shaking her head, hardly able to believe it…she was really doing it…

She was about to marry Sherlock Holmes.

~8~

Sherlock stood rigidly at the side of the gazebo, Mycroft before him, John beside him...with Morgan, Hotchner, and Reid beside him, just...waiting for Leena to arrive though Mary, Garcia, Prentiss, and JJ were all across from them, with just the one spot open for Leena. Mrs. and Mr. Holmes were on Sherlock's side with Mrs. Hudson, while Lestrade and Molly and Tom were on Leena's, just to even it out, as they waited. Mrs. Hudson sniffled as she saw Sherlock standing there, in black pants, and a nicer version of his dark purple shirt, a fitted black vest over it, and...that was all. Simple, truly simple, less formal than for John's wedding, but every bit as elegant despite the fact that everyone gathered was not wearing any sort of color scheme that really matched, but it didn't matter, because Sherlock was the only one that they knew Leena would want to see in that purple shirt.

Sherlock was stiffer than anything and John was...rather shocked, because even he could tell that the great Sherlock Holmes was nervous, "Calm down," he murmured to Sherlock, "It'll be fine, it's just Jackie..."

"Precisely," Sherlock turned to him, "It's...it's HER."

John smiled at that, at Sherlock getting so flustered over WHO it was he was marrying instead of the fact he was marrying someone. Despite all his complaints about marriage during the wedding, John knew that it was Sherlock's way of trying to explain and justify his own relationship with Leena. He had gone on and on about how marriage was the end of all things, how it changed you and so on...and that was how he felt about it in terms of everyone else. But this was LEENA, everything was different when it came to her, everything he felt or thought about one thing...it was always different when it was about her.

"And here she is," they heard Mycroft speak and turned...to see Leena walking down the aisle, with Rossi on her arm, the man having become like a father to her while she was at the BAU, and, with her own father unable to be there, she'd asked him to give her away, something he'd been all too honored to do.

Sherlock felt his breath leave him as he saw Leena walking towards him, felt his mind both shut down at the sight of her, and also work overtime to capture the image of her and frame it in his Mind Palace. She was wearing a strapless white dress, with a sheer sort of fabric over it, long sleeves made of the sheer portion, with a V-neckline and a veil that went to her stomach over it. It was...elegantly simple, the small bundle of flowers in her hand stained a deep purple to match his outfit as she walked closer. The veil was pulled back already, allowing him to see her just...beaming at him...

"Tut tut," Mycroft cut in when he saw his little brother leaning in, about to kiss Leena the moment she reached his side, "AFTER the vows Shirley."

Sherlock's jaw tensed at that remark, that stupid nickname, but when Leena giggled beside him and took his hand, squeezing it, he let out a breath and faced his brother, wanting this to be quick...wanting to be able to kiss his wife...ooh that really was a strange word...as soon as possible.

"I'll keep this brief," Mycroft began, "Something I am sure you'll appreciate?" he looked between them, seeing them smiling, seeing his brother...actually smiling. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch up as well, "We have gathered here, to celebrate the union of two...rather remarkable individuals who have, through many trials and tribulations, forged a friendship, and then a love, and are now entering the unbreakable bonds of matrimony," his lips pursed a bit at that end of that, seemingly in distaste, but Leena merely rolled her eyes at that, "I pray that the bonds shall remain ever strong and your strength and...patience," he added that last part to Leena, "Endure all the years to come. Now that that's over with," he turned to Sherlock as Leena chuckled, "I suppose I shan't be needing to inquire if 'you do?'" he glanced at them, only for them both to shoot him a rather pointed look back as he nodded, "Sherlock...if you have any vows then..."

"No," Sherlock cut in, "Everything I've ever had to say to her...I've already said," he looked at Leena, his eyes locked on hers as she smiled softly at her, "We've never needed words to communicate."

"No we haven't," she agreed, and it was true, in the single moment of her walking up the aisle, she'd been looking at him, she'd seen it in his eyes as he held her gaze, a world of communication, of promises, of praise, and of love passed between them the moment their eyes locked. Nothing had to be said out loud, for nothing could be said out loud that would hold a candle to what they'd deduced and profiled from their expressions only moments ago.

And...it was private, it was far too private and intimate, the words they said to each other when they were alone, and...those were the only words that would do justice to what they felt in that moment and what they wished to promise each other of the future. It was between them...it had always been them, between the two of them, and that was where it would stay.

"Go on Mycroft," she murmured, not taking her eyes off of Sherlock.

"Unless you'd rather skip to the last part," Sherlock smirked.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, leave it to them to take control of the wedding once the shock wore off, "If I must," he sighed, "But there is ONE part I must insist on...the rings."

"Er, um," John stepped up to Sherlock, wincing a bit at that part, "There was...ONE thing we weren't able to throw together," he admitted, "Something that was just...too personal, something YOU needed to pick out and not us..."

"The rings," Sherlock realized.

"Yes," John winced again, "But...we _did_ have a substitute, and, well to be honest, we all sort of think it might be a bit more fitting than rings."

"What?" Leena looked at him, her smile still on her face but just confused.

John just reached out and took each of their hands, "Go on Mycroft," he told the man, confusing both Sherlock and Leena more.

"I now pronounce you man..." Mycroft spoke as a soft click rang out, "And wife..." and a second.

Sherlock and Leena looked down, laughing heartily when they saw...handcuffs. They'd been handcuffed together, much like Leena continuously threatened to do to him, and Sherlock didn't even wait for Mycroft to declare he could 'kiss the bride' before he was pulling Leena to him by said handcuffs and kissing her before their friends and family.

And it was just perfect.

~8~

Sherlock and Leena were standing in the gazebo as a soft song played over a pair of portable speakers Garcia had brought with her, a gentle violin playing in the night. Leena shook her head as she listened to it, her heart beating in her chest harder than ever when Sherlock had murmured that the song, which had seemed familiar but she couldn't place, was the one he'd been working on composing for her during the Irene fiasco. She'd never heard it completed...but he'd been working on it ever since, even playing it and tweaking it in his mind during his 2 years away. It was unofficially titled, by the others, as Leena's Lullaby, which she'd laughed at and begged for a new name as it sounded more like she was an infant being put to bed than anything.

But it was...sweet, it was gentle and soft and...strong as well. Everything Sherlock saw her as, everything she made him feel when he was with her, warm as well, loved, protected, supported...human. She was his humanity. She was...his everything.

"This was..." Leena trailed off, unable to speak a word to describe what it had been, perfect, fantastic, touching, all of that and more and it still wouldn't accurately describe the wonderful thing their friends had done for them, their friends who were currently dancing and swaying and talking outside the gazebo, "I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything Mrs. Holmes," Sherlock murmured in her ear.

She smiled at that, "Mrs. Holmes..." she laughed, "I really am now, aren't I?"

"Hmm..." he hummed, "Yes, I believe so."

"Well then, Mr. Holmes," she pulled away briefly, looking up at him, "I believe I actually HAVE thought of something to say."

"And what's that?" he looked at her intently, his eyes narrowing as he saw her smile morph into a teasing smirk.

"Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?" she asked, grinning when she saw his eyes widen and him freeze in their dancing.

He swallowed hard, he had...NOT been expecting that, "I...believe it's tradition, isn't it?" he swayed her again, blinking slightly to snap himself out of it, "Especially on the wedding night."

"Well, we've never been one to follow tradition," she countered.

"I wouldn't be adverse to following this particular one."

"Oh?" she laughed, "And what's this? Agreeing to tradition?! Has marriage changed the great Sherlock Holmes?!"

"Marriage had nothing to do with it," he shook his head, "I rather think it was the one on the other end of the marriage that...changed me," he looked at her meaningfully as her laughter faded off, "For the better, Jacqueline," he murmured, "You truly have."

"You changed me as well," she whispered, "Though I think it might have been the reverse though. You've corrupted me, Mr. Holmes, shame on you."

He gave a deep chuckle at that, tugging her closer, "I shall have to make up for that then, Mrs. Holmes, just as soon as this song is over."

She smiled at that, nodding as she rested her head against his chest, the two of them swaying more than waltzing, just...letting the violin music drift over them.

Sherlock, for once in his life, smiled an utterly happy smile as he closed his eyes and...held his wife in his arms. He had always held firm to the belief that tradition was boring, it was too sentimental and dull and half the time it was some ridiculous notion that society felt was necessary or meaningful...

And he could admit, sometimes, very rarely...he was wrong.

And later that night, when they returned to their home as husband and wife...he had never been more pleased to have been proven wrong in his life because that particular tradition, along with the rather ridiculous one about thresholds and carrying people, marked the start of their own next chapter and it had the makings of one of the best stories he would ever have the pleasure to read.

The handcuffs though, he was sure, would be a rather wonderful chapter picture.

A/N: ^-.^ I hope you enjoyed the little wedding :) I SO wanted them to get married close to John and Mary's because of how close I felt the three were in the show (even more now with Leena there). But I also didn't want to take away from Mary's day, so...midnight ;) I wanted Mary to try and incorporate as much of the wedding that Sherlock and Leena wanted as possible too :) Lol, I could see Mycroft getting ordained if only to be sure he wouldn't be kicked out of the wedding or forbidden to come as he'd be the 'minister' ;) I sort of felt like, for how long and formal John's was, that Sherlock's and Leena's would be shorter, simpler, quicker, because to them, they really just wanted their friends and family there and it was more like just putting their names down on paper as being together than going through an entire big to-do :)

...hope you liked the handcuffs ;)

Some notes on reviews...

Aww thanks :) I definitely try my best to keep the characters as in character as I can :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)

I tried to include as much of the stag night as I could without taking away from the wedding reception :)

Lol, yup, there might possibly be a Blackbeard in the future ;) They're already married via teddy bear ;) I just love those little things kids do with things like that and thought, if anyone could talk Sherlock into it...it would be Leena :)

I'm very glad that my stories were able to help you through some tough times :') That really means a lot to me to hear, so thank YOU too :)

I'm glad you're enjoying the story, I try to keep it as clean as I can without too much explicit-ness in it and also keeping true to the show/characters :)


	6. His Last Vow - The English

His Last Vow: The English

Leena huffed as she made her way through the halls of St. Bart's, heading for the lab, having gotten numerous calls not just from John, but from Mary, Molly, Lestrade, even MYCROFT! All of them calling her to alert her to the fact that Sherlock had apparently relapsed and ended up in a drug den of sorts, that John had found him when he'd been there to pull another young man, the friend of a neighbor, out of there. All of them were frantic and apologetic and begging her to get there as quickly as possible...

As though she weren't already in the hospital the moment Sherlock texted her that his cover had been blown...by John. It had taken Sherlock ages of convincing her before she'd allowed him to go to the drug den. Not that she had and doubts about his strength and resistance, that wasn't it at all, no...it was the fear that one of the other addicts would stick him while he was unaware or hurt him while he was playing the part. He'd just sworn to her he'd be alright, and she'd let him go.

Of course she had! He had promised her YEARS ago that he'd keep clean and he had. Years before America, he struggled yes, but he kept firm. Four years of her being in America, he'd held strong. He'd nearly lost it when the old woman (who reminded him too much of Mrs. Hudson) had been blown up, but she'd been there and she'd given him a better substitute for the drug, one she was more than happy to be the dealer of. Even 2 years god knew where and he was STILL clean! And yet one of them finds him in a drug den and they assumed the worst!

She was FUMING!

And not about the fact that they were forcing him into a drug test...well, she WAS rather cross about that, no...she was bloody furious about it really. It wasn't because she feared the results, she KNEW what the results would be, of course she knew, SHE was the one who had obtained the sample they were using. She knew exactly what the results would say, because they HAD to come out positive. But Sherlock would never ever touch a drug like that again.

And THAT was what infuriated her. For more than 10 years Sherlock Holmes had been completely clean, and everyone STILL treated him like he was an addict! It was ridiculous! And now, for them to force this on him, to actually believe he'd relapsed after 10 years, just 1 month after their wedding...it was really getting to her. She felt more betrayed than she was sure Sherlock did to find that NONE of their so-called friends had any sort of faith in him whatsoever when it came to something like this.

As though she'd let him out of 221B Baker Street and into a drug den. As though she'd NOT know where he was going?! No...she felt betrayed that they had such little faith in her as well. They were at team, they'd always been a team, and for them to suspect even for a moment that Sherlock had gone to the drugs behind her back...KNOWING that he'd promised her to stay clean...it hurt. It was like they were saying they doubted his love for her, the lengths he'd go to see her happy when they knew that she could get him to give up a case just by saying please!

It was just...the most ridiculous thing she'd ever experienced.

...no, that would probably be walking into the lab to see Molly smacking Sherlock and ranting at him about how dare he betray his friends and Leena and throw away his mind and say he was sorry, etc.

Yes, THAT definitely took the cake.

"Have you LOST your mind Molly?" Leena strode in.

"Jacks!" John nearly jumped, not having expected her to get there so quickly, Molly had JUST finished the test and Leena was already there...they'd wanted to wait a bit and come up with a way to break the news to her that Sherlock was most certainly...

"He's not clean," Molly told her, tears in her eyes, being blunt as ever.

"Well of course he's not!" Leena rolled her eyes, startling everyone but Sherlock, "The urine of a meth addict WOULDN'T be," she held up a small jar of...urine.

"...what?" John shook his head, completely startled.

"Sherwood contacted me that you'd blown his cover," she turned to John, making him blink as he realized...Sherlock really might have actually been undercover if Leena knew about it, "So I had to procure_ something_ to make the tests positive for something drug related," she slipped the jar to Molly, "I met him in the loo and slipped him that instead."

"Jackie..." Molly began softly, "I know you want to believe that, but..."

"He's got sickle-cell anemia," Leena cut in, "The meth user," she nodded at the jars, "Go and check if you don't believe me, it's the same urine, both likely have a trace of blood in them. So instead of slapping my husband, why don't you check the blood type first?"

Molly hesitated, she HAD seen a trace of blood in the urine but...she'd just thought it was because of the drugs. She glanced at the jar Leena had slipped her but looked back at the microscope, honing in on the blood...before she closed her eyes, not only was it sickle-cell, which Sherlock did NOT have, but it wasn't even his blood type.

"Now...say YOU'RE sorry," Leena crossed her arms, trying not to look at how Sherlock was smirking at the situation.

She could understand why they were all acting like Sherlock truly WAS drugged, he was wearing awful clothes, smelled as though he hadn't showered in days (which he hadn't, being undercover), and he looked far paler and more sweaty than normal...but it was amazing what makeup could do. As though actors and actresses really sweat in movies, especially when half the 'summer' movies were filmed in the winter months and so on. It was a trick, a magic trick, one meant to fool a particular individual and it had nearly been ruined because people didn't trust Sherlock.

"Um..." Molly looked down, clearing her throat, embarrassed for having gotten so...overwrought about something she'd completely misunderstood, "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"As am I sorry that your engagement's over," Sherlock countered, "Though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring."

"And you!" Leena rounded on John, "Shame on you for thinking that he would go anywhere near this kind of thing again without me knowing! Without him coming to one of us for help! Honestly, it's a miracle he hasn't gone to the drugs for all your faith in him! Would it kill any of you to just trust him a bit more? It's like you didn't work out how insulted and upset he was when Anderson used to volunteer for those stupid drugs busts..." she trailed off, seeing John shift, "Do NOT tell me that there is a drug bust going on in 221B right now John Watson!"

"Relax, Leena," Sherlock reached out, putting his hands on her shoulders, seeing her getting far too worked up over it all, but he knew his past drug use was a very touchy subject for her, he loathed thinking of himself during that time as well, "They didn't know this is all for a case."

He didn't know what it was but...ever since they'd gotten married it was like...Leena was even more important to him than before. Not that she hadn't always been the most important woman in his life...his own mother came second to her...but...it was like she was just...more now. Seeing her even the slightest bit unhappy had always made him want to see her smile, driven him to do things to see it happen, but now it was more an almost desperate need to see it, to see her happy...to see her happy with him. Marriage, for them, was forever and he'd been very truthful in what he'd said to John about himself during his speech, he was the worst sort of man and Leena had willingly tied herself to him for the rest of her life. He just...wanted to know SHE was happy despite that, that she was happy with HIM. Seeing her worked up or angry or tense...all he wanted to do was help her calm down and breathe and relax now. Though he could be happy she was cross with John and not him.

He was remarkably touched though, that she was getting so worked up over HIM. It...meant a lot to him, to know she cared so much. He wouldn't ever admit it out loud but...every time something like this happened, and John or Lestrade or Mycroft assumed the worst in him...for one brief second, he would wonder what the point was in NOT going to the drugs if everyone seemed so keen to believe he would go there, their lack of faith in him disturbed him greatly. But then...he'd remember Leena punching him in the nose and realize...there was at least ONE person, really the only one that mattered, that DID believe in him. And that was all he needed.

John shook his head, frowning, "What kind of case would need him doing this?"

"I might as well ask you why you've started cycling to work," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"No," John shook his head, "We're not playing this game."

"Quite recently, I'd say. You're very determined about it."

"Not interested."

"_I_ am," someone from behind them called.

"Oh, hello William," Leena greeted, seeing a young man 'Billy' there, he'd been someone she'd contacted from Sherlock's homeless network to help keep him protected while in the drug den.

"Hell...ow!" he winced, sitting on a counter as Mary wrapped his arm, clearly in pain.

Oh, sorry," Mary winced, "You moved. But it _is_ just a sprain."

"What happened to him?" Leena turned to Sherlock.

"Somebody 'it me," Billy called, making Leena look at him, "Eh, just some guy."

"Yeah," John stiffened, "Probably just an addict in need of a fix."

"Yes..." Sherlock began slowly, eyeing John critically, "I think, in a way, it was."

"More than you realized," Leena murmured.

"Is it his shirt?" Billy asked.

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock looked at him.

"Well, it's the creases, innit?" he nodded at John's shirt, "The two creases down the front. It's been recently folded but it's not new. Must have dressed in a hurry this morning so _all_ your shirts must be kept like that. But why? Maybe 'cos you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there an' then dress in the clothes you brought with you. You keep your shirts folded ready to pack."

"Not bad," Sherlock smirked at the man's deducting.

"Told you you'd like him," Leena nudged him.

"And I further deduce," Billy continued, "You've only started recently, because you've got a bit of chafing."

"No," Sherlock laughed, "He's _always_ walked like that. Remind me, what's your name again? William was it?"

"Nah, they call me The Wig."

"No they don't."

"Well, they...they call me Wiggy."

"Nope."

"William?" Leena gave him a pointed look.

He sighed, "Bill. Bill Wiggins."

"Nice observational skills, _Billy_," Sherlock nodded, looking at Leena, "You were right."

"I always am," she winked at him, "And I was right about this as well," she pulled out her phone to show him the text alert she'd gotten that had led her to seek him out in the lab ahead of schedule.

"Ah!" he cheered, seeing it was a news alert, "_Finally_."

"'Finally' what?" Molly frowned, feeling completely lost.

"Good news?" Billy glanced over.

"Oh, _excellent_ news," Sherlock grinned, "The _best_. My wife..." he smiled at Leena, he'd learned he said that quite a lot now, "Is utterly brilliant."

"I learned from the best," she nudged him before he took her hand and headed for the doors.

"There's every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers!" he called to the others, "The game is on!"

~8~

Leena sat between Sherlock and John in the back of the cab heading for 221B, Mary returning the two boys to their respective homes…or at least one to a home and another to a shelter. They'd left rather quickly after they'd answered the text alert Leena had gotten. She had her arm tucked through Sherlock's, leaning against him slightly as they sat in comfortable silence…well, THEY were sitting like that, John, however, was shifting in his seat, whether from the 'chafing' or from his own discomfort with the verbal thrashing Leena had given him not even they were sure.

Sherlock looked down at Leena as she glanced up at him, offering her a small smile as he gave her a look, 'Should we tell him?' his gaze flickered to John.

She let out a soft breath and shook her head, 'WE shouldn't…'

"Don't do that," John cut in, having seen them speaking silently to each other, "You've got something to say, you say it in front of me," he glanced at them, "I don't…want to make any more assumptions about things."

Leena smiled at him, patting his knee in thanks, realizing he was admitting that he'd been wrong about the drug den reaction. She knew he was concerned about her and Sherlock and that was why he'd reacted so strongly. He was fearful of losing his best friend to drugs like he'd 'lost' his sister to the drink…Sherlock really was as good as a brother to him. And she knew he was afraid for her to have to deal with Sherlock like that, but at least he could admit it now, that he SHOULD have had more faith in Sherlock.

"You've heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen, of course," Sherlock began.

"Yeah," John shrugged, "Owns some newspapers, ones I don't read. Why?"

Leena let out a breath, picking her words very carefully, "He's…not a nice man John. He's like…the king of blackmail. I doubt there's anyone," she gave him a slightly pointed look, "In England and a few other countries he doesn't have some sort of dirt on."

Before she could say more the cab pulled up to 221B and Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh, "What is my brother doing here?" he grumbled, getting out of the car to head to the door.

"So I'll just pay, then, shall I?" John rolled his eyes.

"You were the one who insisted he go to Bart's," Leena called back in reminder as she followed Sherlock, they had only really expected Lestrade on the 'drug bust' this time, not Mycroft as well.

"He's straightened the knocker!" Sherlock complained as he reached the door, seeing the knocker, that was always slightly askew, had been fixed, "He always corrects it."

"I know," Leena patted his arm with an amused smile, "OCD he is, it's an unconscious action Sherwood."

Sherlock just sighed…and turned the knocker back to the side, grinning at it before heading into the flat.

"Why'd you do that?" John frowned as he reached them.

"Do what?" Sherlock blinked at him.

Leena laughed and patted John's arm this time, "It's an unconscious action John."

John shook his head at that before he and Leena followed Sherlock in, only to stop short when they spotted Mycroft sitting on the stairs, smirking at them, "Well, then, Sherlock. Back on the sauce?"

"Well, then, Mycroft," Leena countered, "Back on the crisps?" she eyed his stomach pointedly, making him glare at her.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

John sighed, "_I_ phoned him," he told Sherlock, quickly adding, "Before I realized it was a case!" when Sherlock rounded on him.

"The siren call of old habits," Mycroft shook his head, "How very like Uncle Rudy, though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you. Now," he stood, "Save me a little time. Where should we be looking?"

"We?" Sherlock blinked.

Leena sighed and rubbed her forehead, "How many are up there Mycroft?" she asked, not even bothering to try and defend Sherlock to him. The others…she could convince them that Sherlock was completely clean, she'd even be able to convince Lestrade and Anderson…but Mycroft always thought the worst of Sherlock, that he'd slip too easily and 'big brother Mycroft' would have to swoop in and save the day. What he failed to realize…was that goldfish looked out for each other, especially the married ones

Mycroft didn't even get a chance to speak before Anderson's voice called down from the flat, "Mr. Holmes?"

Leena snorted just a tiny bit at that, making them look at her, "Sorry," she shrugged, "It's just…never thought I'd hear the day Anderson, of all people, called you Mr. Holmes with respect."

Sherlock smirked at that, "He's said it with fear though in the past."

"Yes, because Jacks threatened to murder him and Sally," John rolled his eyes, "And he only called you that when she was around."

"Wait a minute…" Leena blinked, before she looked at Mycroft, "Are they searching the WHOLE flat?" Mycroft just gave her a look at that, "Oh my god!" she bolted up the stairs, Sherlock and John exchanging a look before following her quickly up.

They ran into the flat to see that Anderson and another woman, the young woman who had taken Donovan's place when she'd been fired, standing beside him in the kitchen.

"Philip!" Leena huffed, crossing her arm.

"Sorry Jackie," Anderson winced, holding up his gloved hands in surrender, "It's for his own good."

"Oh for the love of god…" Sherlock grumbled, half throwing his keys onto the table and storming over to his armchair in the sitting room.

John frowned as he watched him go…how hadn't he seen it before? How hadn't he seen it all the other times a 'drugs bust' was done? It was…clear, really, the look on Sherlock's face, even the tone of his voice…his irritation, or what he'd thought was irritation with the situation, or even fear at having been discovered…wasn't that at all. It was…very well-hidden hurt. Sherlock Holmes…was actually hurt that they kept assuming he had drugs hidden about, that he was considering using again…he could understand it though. He'd…he'd gone to see Harry with Mary on the way back from France, just to…pop in, make sure she was ok.

She was doing just…wonderful, she really and truly was. He was honestly shocked by it. He admitted he'd been so consumed in dealing with what he thought was Sherlock's death and trying to help Leena through it that he hadn't thought much about his sister in the 2 years Sherlock had been gone. To see her again…he could tell there was a change in her. Her flat was neater, more sparse, more…welcoming. He'd done a bit of snooping and hadn't seen anything even remotely alcoholic. He'd actually…he'd actually found a token that he recognized from a friend or two to be one given in AA meetings from a sponsor. She'd been happier, attentive, she looked better and…he'd been so hopeful, actually letting himself feel that this was a new start for her because…she'd held a job down for a year with no instances of slipping up in it due to the drink. He'd taken her out to dinner with him and Mary and…he'd foolishly ordered a beer. He'd stuttered and tried to send it back the moment he realized what he'd done, fearing for Harry…until she'd told him to drink it, and to stop.

He'd been a bit confused what she meant, but she just shook her head at him and told him to stop assuming she'd go back to the drink just because it was in front of her. That was no way to be supportive and THAT was what an addict, what any addict, recovering, or recovered (though there was no such thing, addiction was a life-long struggle) needed to keep going strong. They needed people around them to believe in them when times got tough for them to believe in themselves. And him freaking out and thinking she'd just grab his beer and chug it…that wasn't any sort of way to help her resist. Treating the beer like it was just any other drink would help her more. To not have him make a big deal of it and assume the worst…to have faith in her, that was all she needed.

And he'd done the same to Sherlock, they ALL had, they'd assumed the very worst whenever a drug was even mentioned in relation to him. Leena had been right, with all the pressure from them, all the negative thought about what he'd do…it was a wonder her own faith in him alone had been able to sustain him so long.

"Oh, that's _him_, isn't it?" the young woman assisting Anderson asked, glancing at Sherlock as he curled up on his armchair, "You said he'd be taller."

"Some members of your little fanclub," Mycroft called to Sherlock as he stepped in, "Do be polite. They're entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat."

"Shut up Mycroft," Leena mumbled, glancing over to see that the door to the bedroom was still closed and let out a breath of relief, before she made her way to the armchair and sat on the arm of it, smiling when Sherlock shifted so he was sitting up a bit more, putting his head on her lap, similar to how they always sat on the sofa, but on the armchair instead.

"You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock," the man just continued, "You can't afford a drug habit."

"I do not have a drug habit!" Sherlock snapped, glaring at him past where John's chair was sitting.

"What have you found so far?" Mycroft turned to Anderson, "Clearly nothing."

"Because there is absolutely NOTHING to find Mycroft," Leena rolled her eyes, "Honestly, how many times has this flat been searched on a drugs bust, hmmm? And how many times has anything at all been found that belonged to SHERLOCK."

There had been one time that they'd found Mrs. Hudson's 'herbal soothers' though.

"Your bedroom door is shut," Mycroft noted as Sherlock let out a heavy sigh and shook his head, closing his eyes, "You haven't been home all night, Leena's been chasing after you through St. Bart's…so, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct order of his mother or his wife bother to do so on this occasion?"

"Go ahead Mycroft," Leena called, leaning back against the chair, "Go and search the bedroom, but I swear to god if you disturb my surprise for Sherwood I will utilize one of his favored methods for killing you."

Mycroft glanced at her over his shoulder, before he made his way into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him…

"Surprise?" Sherlock blinked his eyes open to look up at her, but she just held a finger to her lips that it was meant to be a true surprise…

When Mycroft stepped back out of the bedroom, rather quickly, only a moment later.

"Happy now?" Leena smirked at him, seeing the man was just a shade paler than when he'd gone in.

SHE had been the one in the flat last, SHE had been the one to shut the door. Because she knew, though she had hoped against it, that there was a chance that, with how much everyone was calling her, that there would eventually be yet another pointless drugs bust on the flat and she hadn't wanted her surprise to be so obvious for everyone, especially Sherlock to see.

Mycroft's lips pursed, "Yes," he nearly hissed the word out.

"Good…now all of you get the hell out of our flat!" she huffed, Sherlock chuckling with his eyes closed once more.

"One day Jacqueline," Mycroft warned, "Your faith in my brother will prove your undoing. One should never have too much faith in anything."

"Which is why I never bet on your diets working," she shot back to him.

"This was not what you think," Sherlock sighed, cracking an eye open to look at his brother, though his expression was serious at how his brother had had the nerve to tell his WIFE to not trust him in that endeavor…when it really was her belief in him alone that kept him going when he wanted to give in, "This is for a case."

"What case could possibly justify this?" Mycroft scoffed.

"Magnussen," was all Leena had to say, "Old Charlie boy."

Mycroft's expression hardened, "That name you think you may have just heard," he spun to face Anderson and the woman, "You were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you, on behalf of the British security services, that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don't reply…just look frightened and scuttle!"

Anderson quickly grabbed the woman's hand and pulled her out of the room.

Mycroft sighed and turned back to Sherlock and Leena, "You ought to have more respect for that name," he warned her.

"Well he ought to have more respect for people in general," Leena shrugged, "He's not Sherlock, he doesn't have the charm to get away with it."

Sherlock smirked at that, stretching just a bit in place before he sat up as his brother spoke once more, but to John this time, "I hope I won't have to threaten you as well."

"Well, I think we'd both find that embarrassing," John smirked when he heard Sherlock snort in laughter.

"Magnussen is not your business," Mycroft rounded on him.

"Oh, you mean he's yours," Sherlock stood.

"You may consider him under my protection."

"I consider you under his thumb."

"If you go against Magnussen…" he warned them, "Then you will find yourself going against me."

"When have we ever NOT gone against you Mycroft," Leena stood as well, "We've been a pain in your side since the moment we met…much like you've always been the bane of Sherwood's existence."

"Tea?" Sherlock spun to Leena, who nodded, and he turned to head to the kitchen, "Oh…er, what was I going to say?" he mock-thought, "Oh, yeah," and opened the door as he passed it, "Bye bye."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he walked up to him, "Unwise, brother mine," he eyed Sherlock intently, "We both know how Magnussen operates Shirley," he dropped his voice, "You ought to take more care with your blushing bride or…"

He didn't even get a chance to finish before Sherlock grabbed his left arm and twisted it up behind his back, slamming his brother into the wall next to the door, making Mycroft shout in pain.

"Brother mine," Sherlock nearly hissed in his throat, "Don't you _ever_ dare use Leena against me again."

Leena frowned and sighed, looking at John, "Would it be terrible to admit I'd not stop him if he wished to snap Mycroft in two?"

John offered her the smallest of smiles, "Not really, I feel that way most of the time Mycroft talks…"

"In the subtext?" Leena guessed, recalling what Sherlock had once told her about John hearing 'punch me in the face' whenever Sherlock spoke, in subtext of course.

"Yeah," he chuckled before hearing Mycroft groan in pain. He sighed and made his way over to the two men, "You should have known not to cross that line Mycroft," John warned him, "So don't say another word and just go. 'Cos Jackie's right…he really could snap you in two and, right now, I am slightly worried that he might. And I'm even more concerned that neither of us would stop him."

Mycroft pushed himself free and pulled his arm back, rubbing it in obvious pain, his eyes narrowed at his brother who glared right back.

"Sherlock," Leena called softly, holding out a hand and Sherlock walked right back to her, sitting down on the armchair, winding his arm around her waist absently, "You should go Mycroft," she told him, "Now."

John picked up Mycroft's umbrella that he'd dropped when Sherlock attacked and offered it to him, the man snatching it up as he stormed off. John shook his head, closing the door before he looked at Sherlock and Leena, "Er, Magnussen?" he offered, if just for something to say.

"What time is it?" Sherlock tried to search his pocket for his phone.

"Time for a bath," Leena quipped, leaning over to sniff Sherlock's hair, grimacing, "A week without a bath…you're lucky I love you Sherwood or I'd be on the other side of the room from the stench."

Sherlock though, just nodded and stood, "And we've a meeting with him in three hours," he headed for the halls.

"It's for a case, you said?" John asked, still trying to work out what could be so big a case that LEENA would consider letting Sherlock into an environment like that.

"Yep."

"What sort of case?"

"Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in."

"Jackie's involved," John pointed out.

"And she's married to a sociopath," Sherlock remarked, "Hardly a testament to her mental health."

Leena had to shrug at that, what person in their right mind, with a memory like hers, would get involved in solving murders? Or marry a sociopath as he loved to call himself.

"You trying to put me off?" John frowned.

"Sherwood?" Leena scoffed, "He's trying to reel you in."

Sherlock spun around and pointed at her, his other hand on the bathroom door…before he grinned and crooked his finger, disappearing inside.

Leena laughed and shook her head, standing, "I believe that's my cue," she remarked, heading to the bathroom after him, "Keep out of the bedroom John," she called over her shoulder, before she disappeared inside the small room.

John waited a moment longer, before heading down the hall…and peeking into the bedroom, only to shut the door quickly behind him a moment later his back pressed against it…for a moment, before he opened it again to make sure he really was seeing what he thought he was…

"Yep," he nodded to himself, closing the door and heading into the sitting room to wait.

~8~

John shook his head as he watched Sherlock and Leena after their shower…he'd almost forgotten what they were like when they were together like that, granted he'd only had to experience them openly declaring they'd showered together a handful of times, like when Sherlock had harpooned a dead pig…but it was…still really weird to see how human Sherlock acted around Leena behind closed doors. He liked to think it was a sign that Sherlock felt that comfortable around him that he was willing to express himself more with Leena, allow him to witness it, when he knew the man stiffened up around others in the same situation.

He knew most would probably find it odd, the amount of time that the two spent together, especially since Sherlock had 'come back from the dead' but...he understood, he really did. Leena had seen Sherlock die, there had been a grave, she'd had to spend two complete years without any contact at all from him, and he knew that hurt her more than it had ever hurt him. He could recognize the signs as well, PTSD, he expected that would happen after witnessing what Leena had, after doing what Sherlock had upon the threat against those he held most dear. He knew Leena had had recurring nightmares about it, difficulty sleeping, she hadn't acted like herself afterwards and he was sure that Sherlock had done the same those 2 years out. If it hadn't been for the fact that Leena had surrounded herself in all things Sherlock, he would have identified it as PTSD completely. Both of them seemed to have displayed symptoms of it from time to time, even if it was a minor case he was almost sure they had it. The constant need for reaffirmation that the other was still there...it was why he'd hardly seen them out of each other's sight since Sherlock returned. To be without the other would only cause them to fear that they'd been dreaming the entire event. They were holding so tightly to each other, spending every waking and sleeping moment they could together, so that when they looked over or woke up, they'd see the other person still there. They were getting better about it, the stag night proved it, and he knew the wedding would just reaffirm to them that they were alive and together once more...but...they were in the 'honeymoon' stage of the marriage now and he expected them to be even closer.

...though he really had no idea how Leena did it. HE had missed Sherlock plenty, yes, his best friend had 'died.' But he doubted he'd be able to spend so much time with Sherlock Holmes and NOT try to murder him...he'd barely been around the man a few minutes before he HAD tried to strangle him...

Sherlock was currently dressed in black pants and a white shirt, putting on his jacket as he walked across the sitting room towards Leena as she sat on the armchair, her pants a dark gray with a hint of pinstripe to them, her shirt a light purple, a fitted buttoned up one, with her hair down and clipped to one side, on Sherlock's laptop.

"Now," Sherlock began, glancing at John, "Magnussen. Magnussen is like a shark, it's the only way I can describe him. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, John? Stood up close to the glass? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes? That's what he is."

"We both dealt with the worst sort," Leena murmured, "From psychopaths to murderers, terrorists to serial killers, angels of mercy and assassins…none of them hold a handle to Magnussen."

"You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he's _so_ much more than that," Sherlock added, "He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power. I'm not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond."

"He's like the evil genius of blackmail," Leena muttered, before getting up to place the laptop on the nearest desk, turning it so they could see the files she'd hacked into, a blueprint of a building, "And this is his main home."

"Inside it he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. Its name…is Appledore."

"It's like the Library of Alexandria, FULL of secrets, scandals, shame…" she shook her head, "Or at least that's what they say, no one's ever been inside it, it's that secure. I can't even hack into it since it's all on paper, nothing digital at all, all hard copies."

"It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world, and all of it lies underneath that house. And as long as it is, the personal freedom of _anyone_ you've ever met is a fantasy."

They looked over at the door when they heard a knock on it to see Mrs. Hudson standing there, "Oh, that was the doorbell. Couldn't you hear it?"

"Did you put it in the freezer again?" Leena looked at Sherlock, getting up to go check.

"Hmmm…no," he glanced at her, "It's in the _fridge_. It kept ringing."

"That's the purpose of the doorbell Sherwood!" she called over to him.

"Who is it?" John glanced at Mrs. Hudson, noting that the woman seemed tense and very anxious.

"Who else do you think it would be John?" Leena asked as she walked back over with the doorbell ringer.

"Magnussen?" he frowned, glancing between them.

"Indeed," Sherlock stood, moving to the fireplace and gesturing them to join him, "Let them up, Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson swallowed hard and nodded, heading down the stairs to do just that as they waited, standing stiffly, for Magnussen to arrive. They were unsurprised for the most part when three rather large and burly bodyguards entered first, scoping out the room, the halls, opening a few doors here and there before converging back into the sitting room and looking at the three of them intently.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Oh, go ahead," he held out his arms for the guards to pat him down.

Leena sighed, "If you must," she grumbled, doing the same, though that particular guard did take care not to pat too incriminatingly, what with Sherlock's hawk-like gaze on him.

The third moved over to John though, "Sir?"

John glanced over at the other two, "Can I have a moment?"

Sherlock lowered his arms as the 'frisking' finished, and looked at the man about to search John, "Oh, he's fine."

"Er," John shifted as he was being patted down anyway, "I...right. I should probably tell you..." he winced as the man pulled out a knife he'd taken off of Billy when he'd attacked him in the drug den, "Ok, I...that and..." and then the man pulled out a tire lever he'd taken incase he was attacked in the drug den, "Doesn't mean I'm _not_ pleased to see you," he quipped, but the man was far from amused.

"I can vouch for this man," Sherlock stepped up as the man searching Leena stepped away, "He's a doctor. If you know who Leena and I are, then you know who _he_ is..." he trailed off a moment, glancing at the door as Magnussen himself stepped in, "Don't you, Mr. Magnussen?"

He wasn't all that impressive really, Magnussen, nor was he very intimidating to look at. He was a small man in a suit, with short hair and glasses, a hint of a beard to him. He was pale and sketchy though, that could be said for certain, and he did give off a rather 'creepy' aura, but that was probably due to his dead-eyed gaze.

"It's quite rude to show up like this," Leena remarked, "We were scheduled to gather in YOUR office."

"This _is_ my office," Magnussen moved to the sofa and sat down.

"This is OUR flat," Leena corrected, "Put that note in your records."

Magnussen's eyes narrowed as he looked at her, reading information that appeared before his eyes:

_Jacqueline Angelique Holmes nee Jerrard_  
_Scotland Yard, Profiling Unit_  
_Former BAU Agent_  
_Finances: 2% Debt (see file)_  
_Status...Top Priority_  
_Pressure Point: Sherlock Holmes (Husband)_

He smirked, his gaze flickering to John as well:

_John Hamish Watson_  
_Afghanistan Veteran (see file)_  
_G.P. (see file)_  
_Porn Preference: Normal_  
_Finances: 10% Debt (see file)_  
_Status...Unimportant_  
_Pressure Point: Harry Watson (Sister, Recovering Alcoholic), Mary Morstan (Wife)_

"I'll see to it," he gave Leena a brief nod.

"Mr. Magnussen," Sherlock stiffened, having caught the man's gaze on Leena, guessing what he'd done as he stared at her, searched his records of her in Appledore, probably had some sort of software in his glasses that told him about a subject, "I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood only a week ago on the matter of her husband's letters," he frowned as Magnussen merely shifted on the sofa and picked up the paper to read, "Some time ago you put pressure on her concerning those letters. She would like those letters back."

Magnussen tilted his head, eyeing Sherlock this time:

_Sherlock Holmes_  
_Consulting Detective_  
_Porn Preference: Minimal (see JAH's file)_  
_Finances: Unknown_  
_Brother: Mycroft Holmes_  
_MI6 (see file)_  
_Officially Deceased 2011-2013_  
_Pressure Point: Jacqueline Holmes (wife, see file), Redbeard (see file), Jim Moriarty (see file), Hounds of Baskerville, Opium, John Watson..._

He squinted at Sherlock, watching as the list scrolled on and on and on, a number of drugs repeating though, quite a few of the ones that had shown up in a drug report taken just earlier.

"You don't really have any need for the letters," Leena added, "So why not return them?"

Sherlock frowned when Magnussen snorted at the sheer list of things that could be used against Sherlock Holmes, it was rather impressive. For a man who never left himself open except to a select few, there were more ways to harm him than many other's he'd come across. This would be fun.

"Something we said?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"No, no," Magnussen waved him off, adjusting his glasses, "I...I was reading. There's rather a lot," he looked at Sherlock, "Redbeard..." he nearly grinned as Sherlock stiffened, "Sorry," he shook his head, "Sorry. You were probably talking?"

"I..." Sherlock began, clearing his throat when Leena subtly took his hand, knowing the mention of Redbeard still got to him at times, "I was trying to explain that I've been asked to act on behalf of..."

"Bathroom?" Magnussen cut in, looking at the guard by John.

"Along from the kitchen, sir," the man replied.

"Ok."

"I've been asked to negotiate the return of those letters," Sherlock continued, "I'm aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents..."

But Magnussen ignored him again, gesturing around at the flat, "Is it like the rest of the flat?"

"Sir?" the guard frowned.

"The bathroom?"

"Er, yes, sir."

"Maybe not, then."

"Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?!" Sherlock nearly snapped, irritated with the man's attitude. He knew he gave off the same sort of feeling, but at least he was able to appear to pay more attention than that.

"Lady Elizabeth Smallwood," Magnussen nodded, "I _like_ her."

"Will you please just answer the question?" Leena gave the man a look, "Is Sherlock acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

"She's English, with a spine," he continued, as though he hadn't heard a word either Sherlock or Leena had said. He merely pushed the coffee table away with his foot and stood, gesturing for a guard to move, the man removing the fire guard from the front of the fireplace, "Best thing about the English, you're _so_ domesticated. All standing around, apologizing," he sighed, making his way to the fireplace, "Keeping your little heads down. You can do what you like here. No one's ever going to stop you," he chuckled, unzipping his fly and proceeding to use the fireplace as a facility while Sherlock, Leena, and John remained resolutely facing forward, disgusted and appalled, "A nation of herbivores. I've interests all over the world but, er, everything starts in England. If it works here I'll try it in a _real_ country," he smirked, zipping himself back up before making his way before the men again and taking a hand sanitizer napkin from a guard, "The United Kingdom, huh? Petri dish to the Western world," he glanced at Sherlock, "Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters, so I'm keeping them. Goodbye," he dropped the napkin to the floor and moved to leave, only to pause and turn to them again, tugging a packet of white documents to peek out from his inner pocket, "Anyway," he chuckled, "They're funny."

The trio watched as the man smirked, tucked the letters back, and left the room with his guards after him.

"Jesus!" John hissed as he half jumped away from the fireplace the moment the footsteps on the stairs faded.

"Did you notice the one extraordinary thing he did?" Sherlock grinned, glancing at them.

"Wh..." John rolled his eyes, "There _was_ a moment that kind of stuck in the mind, yeah," he pointed at the fireplace.

"He showed us the letters," Leena reasoned. Given how secure Appledore was…it was hard to imagine he'd EVER take something that should be stored there out of it with him.

John just blinked, "Ok?"

"So he's brought the letters to London," Sherlock explained, "So no matter what he _says_, he's ready to make a deal."

"We need to be careful," Leena shook her head "He only makes deals after he's found someone's weakness, their 'pressure point.'"

"So, clearly he believes I'm a drug addict and no serious threat," Sherlock grabbed his coat, glancing at Leena with a proud smile, "That was brilliant."

She smiled at that but John shook his head, "THAT was the reason?" he gaped at them, "You were in a drug den to make Magnussen think you were an addict?"

"It's really simple John," Leena moved to grab her own coat, "If you don't want someone to use a weakness against you...give them a false one, one that wouldn't actually hurt you. They think that's the way to get to you, and you have the upper hand."

John blinked...that was actually rather brilliant, it was true. Someone would use that weakness against you, thinking it would harm you, thinking it would give them the upper hand...only for it to have no affect at all, allowing you to continue fighting back while also unnerving your opponent. He...should probably try to think of a false weakness now that he thought about it. He'd nearly had one with his psychosomatic limp, people would have thought he needed the cane and taken it from him to hinder him...only for him to fight back without needing it at all.

"Now, I HAVE managed to hack his schedule," Leena pulled out her phone, the program Penny had made her running, showing Sherlock the man's plans, "He's only here for the night."

Which means the letters will be in his safe in his London office while he's out to dinner with the..." Sherlock squinted at the plans, "Marketing Group of Great Britain from seven 'til ten. Right," he nodded, glancing at John, "We'll see you tonight," he took Leena's hand as they headed out.

"What's tonight?" John called after them.

"I'll text instructions!"

"Yeah, I'll text _you_ if I'm available!"

"You are!" Leena shouted up to him, "I checked!"

"What?" he headed after them, "Did you hack my planner too?"

"I asked your wife," she glanced back at him as they stepped outside.

"Don't bring a gun," Sherlock added.

"Why would I bring a gun?" John frowned at that.

"Or the knife," Leena joked, "Or the tire lever..."

"Probably best not to do any arm-spraining," Sherlock nodded, "But we'll see how the night goes," he held up a hand to hail a cab.

"You're just assuming I'm coming along?" John scoffed.

"Time you got out of the house, John," Sherlock glanced at him, "You've put on seven pounds since you got married, and the cycling isn't doing it," he turned, opening the door for Leena as a cab pulled up.

"It's actually four pounds," he leaned down to look at them through the window.

"Mary and Leena think seven. See you later," they waved to John as the car took off, Sherlock leaning forward to give the driver the address, a rather quaint jewelry story...they DID still have to get their wedding rings, handcuffs could only be worn in public so often before others started to worry about you.

~8~

That night John entered the CAM Global News tower, stepping through the revolving doors and stopping before the security barriers, needing a card to open them. He glanced around, looking at his watch as Sherlock and Leena appeared behind him, both with a cuppa in hand, though Leena had two.

"Magnussen's office is on the top floor," Sherlock spoke, startling John, though his gaze was on the lift doors, "Just below his private flat but there are fourteen levels of security between us and him."

"Here," Leena handed John the beverage, his gaze flickering to her hand, seeing a second ring on it and looked at Sherlock to see he too was actually wearing a wedding band now, very slim, very simple, but that was just like them too, wasn't it? Simple and yet he knew both cherished the small bands, "You'll need it," she sighed, knowing that there was every chance they were about to be arrested or murdered or something before she turned and headed to the security barriers, swiping a card through them and getting the three of them in.

"Two levels aren't even legal in this country," Sherlock added as they stepped onto an escalator, taking it up a floor or two, "Want to know how we're going to break in?"

"Is that what we're doing?" John glanced at him.

"What else would we be doing on a night like this?" Leena scoffed, "Dinner and a movie?" she nudged Sherlock playfully, "I prefer teaing and entering."

Sherlock looked at her, "Teaing and Entering?"

She shrugged, sipping her tea as she winked at him, "Better than plain old dinner and movie any day."

He smiled at that as they came to the landing, heading down the hall to a lift with a rather advanced security panel beside it, "Magnussen's private lift," he nodded at it, "It goes straight to his penthouse and office. Only he uses it and only his key card calls the lift."

"According to the security records, anyone else tries it and security is called in seconds."

"Ok," John frowned, eyeing the lift panel, "So how do we get in then?"

"There's a secondary keycard," Sherlock stated, "One that's used only by his personal assistant, she'd need to be able to get to the office and prepare it for him without him buzzing her in constantly..."

"So we're stealing her keycard then?" John guessed, it would probably be easier to do that than try and lift Magnussen's, the girl probably didn't have security with her.

"Already did," Leena smiled, holding up the keycard she'd used to get in, "Took me a few goes, been trying ALL month to lift it..."

John blinked and frowned, "I thought you said Lady Smallwood only asked you last week..." before he realized what she'd said, "Hold on, you know Magnussen's PA?"

"You do too," she nodded, "It's Janine," he gave her a look, not sure who that was, "Mary's friend Janine, was nearly Maid of Honor..."

"Oh," he nodded, "Really?"

Leena laughed, "Took me a month of lunch dates with her and Mary and girl's night in at her flat to get it," she turned to the panel and ran the card through the side strip before John could realize what he'd first been thinking, that they'd been working on getting Magnussen for weeks before Smallwood had come to them...they couldn't let him wonder why. She smiled as the light on the reader turned from red to blue and the lift doors opened.

"But hold on..." John shook his head as they got in the lift, "Wouldn't Janine realize...is she there...what..."

"Today's her day off," Leena calmed him, "And without her keycard she wouldn't be there anyway. According to the security," she looked at her phone, "The guards'll have finished their rounds a minute or two ago, it'll be empty."

They stood in silence as they rode up to the 32nd floor and stepped into the darkened office...only to see a guard lying on the ground, face down. John rushed over, kneeling down to examine the man, seeing a bit of blood on his fingers from touching his head, "It's a blow to the head. He's breathing."

Security," Sherlock eyed him, seeing a small tattoo of '14' behind the man's left ear, "Ex-con..." he squinted, seeing five dots on the man's right hand, tattoos, for of them were in a square shape with the fifth in the middle of it, "White supremacist, by the tattoo, so who cares?"

"He might be able to tell us who attacked him," Leena pointed out, before trying to rouse the man, knowing he'd be in no fit state to try and attack or call for backup with his disorientation at waking, he would probably answer questions, assume they were police at first...

Sherlock straightened and looked around, before making his way through the room, eyeing everything carefully as he went. He knelt by a chair, placing his hand on it, it was warm, someone had just sat in it...and it couldn't be the guard, no sitting down on the job for this profession and employer.

"They're still here, aren't they?" he heard a whisper behind him and turned to see Leena watching him, still crouched by the man as John tried to help him.

Sherlock nodded, putting a finger to his lips before whispering, "So's Magnussen. His seat's still warm. He should be at dinner but he's still in the building."

Leena sighed and looked around, "I'll take down here, you above?"

Sherlock nodded, "John keep working on him," he ordered the man before heading to the stairs as Leena moved around the bottom floor of the penthouse.

"We should call the police!" John hissed loudly to them both.

"During our own burglary?!" Sherlock scoffed in a whisper, "You're really not a natural at this, are you?" he stiffened though, catching a whiff of something on the stairs and closed his eyes, what was that smell? Versace? No, "Perfume," he murmured.

Leena frowned and sniffed as well, vaguely catching a trace of it, "It's not Janine's, I can tell you that."

Sherlock's face scrunched, trying to place it. Not Prada, not Dior...Claire de la lune! His eyes opened, "Claire de la lune..." he blinked, grimacing at the thought that he could identify it, "Why do I know it?" he looked at Leena, "You don't wear perfume," she didn't wear much of anything really, perfume, makeup, she couldn't be bothered with it she'd say, running around and working up a sweat and crawling through sewers left little need to worry about makeup.

"Mary wears it," John shrugged, still focused on the guard.

Sherlock stiffened, looking over at Leena as they caught each other's gaze. Sherlock nodded, before he turned and ran up the stairs, Leena turning to the other doors, both of them needing to find Magnussen and fast!

~8~

Sherlock ran through the halls of the upper floor, knowing he was on the right path as the scent of the perfume grew stronger. He had to be quick, not just to get to Magnussen but because it would only take Leena a matter of time to realize that the perfume scent was weaker downstairs and work out what was happening above her.

He ran around a corner, slowing to be quieter as he heard Magnussen talking to someone, sounding almost afraid, "What...what...what would your husband think, eh?" he made his way to the door and peered in, "He...your lovely husband, upright, honourable..." he could see Magnussen on his knees, his hands behind his head, covering, "So English. What...what would he say to you now?"

"Aim for the heart," Sherlock answered as he stepped in, to see someone all in black, from head to toe, including hat and gloves, with what looked like a small vest or armor on over it, aiming a gun at Magnussen, "That is what I think John Watson would say, don't you Mary?"

He watched the figure stiffen and slowly turn around to reveal Mary Watson standing before him, her expression hard and cold.

"Though, if you're going to commit murder, you might consider changing your perfume," Sherlock continued, not at all perturbed it was HER, not even stopping in his quest to stand before her as he entered the room even as she turned her gun on HIM instead.

"You knew?" Mary breathed.

Sherlock gave her a curt nod, "John is...important to both Leena and I, you couldn't have expected us NOT to dig into your past to protect our...friend."

Is John with you?" Mary breathed, "Is John here?"

"Downstairs," he nodded.

"So, what do you do now?" Magnussen asked, glancing between them, "Kill us both?"

"Mary..." Sherlock began, "Whatever he's got on you, let Leena and I help," he took a step towards her, but she cocked her gun, stopping him.

"Oh, Sherlock, if you take one more step I swear I will kill you," she warned.

"No, Mrs Watson," he shook his head, firm in that belief, his eyes scanning her and Magnussen and the scene, working out what was about to happen, "You won't."

He took a single step...and Mary fired at his lower chest...

He looked down at his abdomen, at the blood seeping through his shirt.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," Mary murmured, tearful, "Truly am."

Sherlock looked up at her...the room darkening before he blinked...and suddenly Molly Hooper, of all people, was standing in front of him in her white lab coat, "It's not like it is in the movies," she warned, "There's not a great big spurt of blood and you go flying backwards. The impact isn't spread over a wide area. It's tightly focused, so there's little or no energy transfer…"

~8~

_Sherlock let out a breath, looking around to see he was now in his Mind Palace, that he'd escaped there because…had had mere seconds, he had seconds to work out what to do to survive this. So he'd gone to those who had the most experience helping him, Molly…_

_He blinked, now in the morgue of St. Bart's in his Mind Palace, lying on a slab with a sheet over him…his eyes were closed…he could hear her still though._

_"You stay still and the bullet pushes through. You're almost certainly going to die, so we need to focus…"_

_He gasped when she slapped him across the face…_

~8~

He was back in the room, Molly before him again, "I said _focus_!" and slapped him once more.

~8~

_Sherlock looked down, in his Mind Palace once more, staring down at his own body on the slab, looking at the bullet hole in his abdomen._

_"It's all well and clever having a Mind Palace," Molly continued, "But you've only three seconds of consciousness left to use it. So, come on," she looked at him, "What's going to kill you?"_

_"Blood loss."_

_"Exactly. So, it's all about one thing now…" she watched sadly as he started to sway, "Forwards, or backwards?"_

~8~

Sherlock blinked, standing before Mary and the kneeling Magnussen, feeling himself grow unbalanced as he heard Molly's voice whisper, "We need to decide which way you're going to fall."

"One hole, or two?" another voice asked.

He managed to glance over his shoulder to see Anderson standing there, "Sorry?"

"Is the bullet still inside you or is there an exit wound?" Molly stepped beside the man, "It'll depend on the gun."

He closed his eyes, trying to think of the gun, bringing up all the information he could, "That one, I think," he winced, thinking of one gun in particular, before another appeared, nudging the other away, "Or that one…"

"Oh, for God's sake, Sherlock," he could hear his brother scoff and spun around…

~8~

_…to see he was in the Mind Palace version of his brother's office, "It doesn't matter about the gun. Don't be stupid. You always were so stupid. No idea what Jackie saw in you. Such a disappointment."_

_"I'm not stupid!" he insisted, suddenly feeling and seeing things as though he were a child once more, looking up at his big brother._

_"You're a very stupid little boy. Mummy and daddy are very cross because it doesn't matter about the gun."_

_"Why not?"_

_"You saw the whole room when you entered it. What was directly behind you when you were murdered?"_

_"I've not been murdered yet!" he reminded his brother._

_Mycroft just leaned down to face him, "Balance of probability, little brother."_

~8~

Sherlock swallowed and turned around in Magnussen's room to see a large mirror behind him, Mycroft staring back at him in the reflection, "If the bullet had passed through you, what would you have heard?"

"The mirror shattering," he answered, now older once more.

"You didn't. Therefore…"

"The bullet's still inside me," he breathed.

"So, we need to take him down backwards," Anderson nodded, appearing again.

Molly stepped before him, "I agree. Sherlock, you need to fall on your back."

"Right now, the bullet is the cork in the bottle."

"The bullet itself is blocking most of the blood flow."

"But any pressure or impact on the entrance wound could dislodge it."

"Plus, on your back, gravity's working for us. Fall, now."

Sherlock took a breath, not even commenting on how ridiculous Molly and Anderson sounded speaking like that as he started to fall backwards…

~8~

_Sherlock gasped in pain as he heard a blaring alarm sounding, now in the morgue once more, pressing his hands to his ears to try and block it out, "What the hell is that? What's happening?"_

_One of the slabs began to slide out from the storage chamber off to the side, revealing his own dead body as Molly walked up to it, examining it, "You're going into shock. It's the next thing that's going to kill you."_

_"What do I do?" he demanded._

_"Don't go into shock, obviously," Mycroft took Molly's place, rolling his eyes, "Must be something in this ridiculous memory palace of yours that can calm you down," he glanced at Sherlock as he stared at him, "FIND it," he watched as Sherlock took off, rushing out of the room, "The East Wind is coming, Sherlock!" he called after his brother, "It's coming to get you."_

_Sherlock ran as fast as he could into the halls, turning to rush down a set of stairs, hearing echoes of his brother's voice mixing with his own as he ran. He moved to a door, pulling it open…only to see Mary in her wedding dress, aiming a gun at him…before she fired, striking him once more._

_"Find it!" Mycroft shouted at him as he fell._

_Sherlock stumbled into the wall as he fell backwards, before pushing himself on. He ran through another door, into a corridor…stopping short when he saw a dog with reddish-brown fur on the other end, "Hello, Redbeard," he breathed, starting to smile, "Here, boy. Come on!" he leaned down, clapping his hands to his knees and the dog ran over for him, "Come to me. It's ok. It's alright," he smiled as the dog reached him, feeling himself calming as he played with the old boy, feeling almost like a happy child once more._

_Leena had helped him pick out the dog, had even helped him name it. He'd gone through a phase, had wanted to be a pirate. They would often play that as well, when his tutors grew so boring in how wrong they were, he'd long for adventures like in the books Leena would read to him to better her English. They'd play pirates, he'd be a pirate and she'd be the princess he captured to hold for ransom…only to turn her into a pirate as well._

_It was…very telling really, more symbolic of their current relationship than he realized._

_"Come on!" he began to pet the dog happily, "It's me! It's me, come on! Come on! Good boy! Clever boy!" he started to scratch its head as Readbeard licked at his face, "Hello, Redbeard. They're putting me down too, now. It's no fun, is it?"_

_He let out a groan, staggering backwards as his breath left him…his body growing tingling instead of calm as it had been moments ago, "Redbeard…" he reached out for the dog…but fell backwards onto the floor…_

~8~

He gasped, hitting the ground of Magnussen's room, Molly standing over him, "Without the shock, you're going to feel the pain," she warned.

~8~

_Sherlock's jaw clenched as he began to convulse in the hall of his Mind Palace, Molly watching him sadly, "There's a hole ripped through you. Massive internal bleeding. You have to control the pain."_

_Sherlock let out a strangled scream, pushing himself to his feet and running down the halls, staggering into the walls, clutching at his chest…he had to get somewhere soothing…he had to get somewhere where he wouldn't feel pain…_

_He turned a corner and grabbed a door handle, shoving it open and dashing into the room…stopping and staring at the sight before him._

_"Hello Locksley," Leena smiled as she looked at him from where she was sitting at the windowsill of his family's library. It was one of the windows that jutted out just so, giving enough room to put a small cushioned bench along the inside of it to make a reading nook._

_She was sitting there, her back to the wall, her legs up before her, knees only slightly bent to her chest as she rested her book against them, she was barefoot, in simple jeans and a white shirt, her hair up in a messy ponytail. He could see green outside the window, trees, with sunlight streaming in, illuminating her._

_He let out a breath and slowly made his way towards her, it wasn't the room itself that calmed him, it was Leena, it was the memory of her, his most calm and soothing memory…her just…reading, enjoying a book, smiling at him. When she smiled at him with THAT grin…it was like there was nothing in the world that could hurt him. When she looked at him with that expression, that look in her eyes…it was like everything that pained him just…faded away._

_And he needed that now, more than ever._

_"Control…" he breathed as he approached her._

_She laughed, swinging her legs off the small cushion to sit up as he crouched before her, taking one of her hands, his gaze locked on her, as she reached out with her free hand, having set her Robin Hood book beside her, to touch his cheek, "We both know you have almost none of that when it comes to me Locksley."_

_"You always help me control it," he murmured, his eyes searching hers, "Control the pain, control…everything. How?" he shook his head, "How do you always make the pain go away?"_

_Her smile became even more gentle as she stroked his cheek, "I give you something else to feel instead."_

_"Like what?"_

_"Comfort, warmth, reassurance," she shrugged, "Love, peace, hope…"_

_"Hope," he nodded, "I could do with that right now," he swallowed hard, trying to smile though he was sure the tears in his eyes were betraying him._

_He was…scared._

_He could admit it in the sanctuary of his own mind…he was scared, he had such little time left and had to do so much to ensure he'd survive, to give himself the best chance…because he'd heard and glimpsed Leena breaking down once when he had 'died' and he swore to himself he wouldn't EVER do that to her again._

_"Well then," she scooted off the window ledge to stand, tugging him up with her, "Hope it is," she stepped closer to him, taking both his hands in hers…before she placed them to her stomach, "One day…one day Sherlock."_

_He looked down at her stomach, which was now quite a bit bigger than it had been only moments ago, and blinked when he felt a soft, yet strong, kick against his hand, "What…"_

_He looked up at her and blinked once more…she was standing a foot away from him, her stomach flat…but this time…she was holding something in her arms, a small bundle in a light pink blanket. He stepped closer his gaze fixed on it…and spotted a little baby girl sleeping in her arms as she gently rocked it._

_"I don't understand…" he whispered._

_"You ought to," she laughed, "This is YOUR mind Locksley," she looked down at the little girl as she started to blink her eyes open, revealing them to be gray like her mothers, with tufts of his black curly hair peeking out from the top of the blanket, "YOU were the one who imagined Liberty first."_

_"Liberty…" he breathed, staring at the little girl, recalling the Hound of Baskerville, how he'd been trying to work out Liberty Indiana…and accidently imagined a baby girl named Liberty. He swallowed hard…he'd imagined his OWN daughter it appeared._

_"She is all the hope you need though," Leena continued, looking up at him, gently swaying their daughter as she started fussing, her little hands peeking out of the blanket and swinging around, "Just look at her Sherlock…" she murmured._

_Sherlock hadn't taken his eyes off her, "She's…" he shook his head, there were too many words to describe it, small, beautiful, imaginary…ooh, that last one broke his heart for a moment. He hesitated only a moment before he reached out, seeming like he were about to poke her…when Liberty grabbed his finger with one of hers and tugged on it, pulling it closer to her…almost, for a second or two, looking as though she were examining it, in the way only a baby could, though…_

_"Just like you," Leena laughed, "Already learning."_

"Sherlock?!"

_Sherlock looked up, swearing he'd heard Leena screaming, but that was impossible…she was right there before her, most certainly NOT screaming at him._

"Sherlock?"

_He glanced over his shoulder, and there was John's voice as well, but John wasn't there..._

"What happened?"

_Sherlock shook his head, looking at HIS Leena once more, only to see the room had changed, to a child's room, him and Leena standing in the doorway, watching as a little girl, with his hair and her eyes, sat on the floor, barely 10 years old, playing with a shaggy black dog._

_"Blackbeard sit!" the girl giggled, cheering as the dog sat before her, holding out a paw automatically for her to shake, "Daddy look I taught him a trick!" the girl looked back over her shoulder at him, beaming_

_Sherlock frowned though, looking around, confused, "I don't understand, what's happening?"_

"He was SHOT John!" Leena cried at the obvious answer.

"Jesus…"

_HIS Leena's smiled turned sad, "You're dying Locksley remember?" she shook her head, "And you CAN'T. Not now…" she looked at Liberty, "You've got to fight it…you've got to hold on, otherwise…" she let out a breath and looked at him once more, "Otherwise she won't exist."_

"Who shot him?!" John's voice yelled.

"Does that REALLY matter right now John!?" Leena shot back.

~8~

A team of medical responders rushed Sherlock out of the building, the man fixed to a stretcher as John and Leena ran after it, both trying their level best to keep the tears IN their eyes.

One of the responders turned as they got it into the ambulance, turning to hold out a hand to help them in, "Come on!"

~8~

_"Come on dad," a voice said behind Sherlock._

_Sherlock spun around, his eyes wide as he saw a young girl, no…a young woman, with his curly black hair, long and pulled back with a gray headband, Leena's gray eyes sparkling at him as they stood in the sitting room of 221B, the girl in a very modest silver, strapless dress with a black, long sleeved shrug over it, "Liberty?"_

_"You're going to be late," she laughed, walking over to him and linking her arm with his as he blinked at her._

_"Late for what?"_

~8~

"Sherlock please…" Leena gasped, grabbing his hand as the ambulance raced on.

John turned grim as he saw the readings on the monitors, "We're losing him!"

~8~

_"You're losing your mind, aren't you?" Liberty rolled her eyes, "You'd best delete some things from that Mind Palace of yours if you've forgotten. That or upgrade to a Mind Library like me."_

_"Forgotten what?" he shook his head._

~8~

Leena and John stood in a medical observation theater, watching as the emergency staff went to work on Sherlock, trying to get the bullet out, repair the damage, and get more blood into him before the damage set in…but…it seemed like it was too late.

"No…" Leena breathed as she watched the surgeons rush about…only for Sherlock's heart monitor…to flat line.

John swallowed hard, reaching out to pull Leena to him as he saw the surgeons bow their heads, "Oh my God."

~8~

_"Oh my god dad," Liberty shook her head at how odd her father was being, more so than usual, "You're the one who insists on deducing any boy I so much as TALK to…"_

_"Boy?!" he stopped walking, staring at the girl…the 16 year old girl, "What boy!?"_

~8~

Leena gasped, looking over as they heard a faint beep on the heart monitor…it had been one, just for a moment…but it had BEEN there. There had been a beat!"

"Please," she begged, her gaze fixed on the monitor.

~8~

_Sherlock blinked rapidly as he looked at the girl…if he hadn't been dying right at that very moment, he was quite sure he would have had a heart attack. What was his daughter doing with a boy!? She was a little girl!? She wasn't old enough to be seeing or even talking to those of the opposite gender especially now with the intentions he kept seeing in them when he deduced them._

_"Hamish father," Liberty giggled, "It's just Hamish, we're going to see a movie later…remember?" she glanced at him, "You DO remember Hamish, don't you?"_

_"Hamish as in…"_

_"Hamish Watson," she gave him a look like he should know that, "The only boy you and mum trust around me," her expression softened though as the light around them dimmed, "And too right you should. 'Cos he's John's son, isn't he? And he'll need John to be there, just like I need you to be there..."_

_"You...do?" he blinked at her._

_"Course I do," she laughed Leena's laugh, "I'll always need my father. But first though...you need to come back, you HAVE to...'cos mum'll be a wreck without you. And she and John will be in danger. They NEED you dad," she let out a little whistle, "You're quite the busy bee, aren't you? So much to do, so little time...you need to get out of here, get better, get them all safe from Charlie...and then you and mum really DO need to get on with creating me," she smirked, "I want to get to know you properly instead of just being here," she gestured around, "I'd rather be the bundle in your arms than the twinkle in your eyes. So go on," she nodded her head to the door, "They're waiting for you."_

_Sherlock glanced at the door, and then at the girl as she gave him an all-too-familiar wink. He grinned at that before he turned and ran out the door, into the bright hallway beyond..._

~8~

"Yes!" John shouted, seeing Sherlock's finger twitch as another beat hit the monitor, "Come on Sherlock!"

The surgeons and other medical staff ran back to Sherlock, starting to frantically get to work on him as the heart monitor picked up once more, his heart beating again.

"You stubborn ass!" Leena laughed to herself, shaking her head at Sherlock as she nearly sobbed with relief, never had she ever been more thankful he was just that.

A/N: I'm really hating this website right now :( This is like the third time this week that it's kept me from logging on :( I thought it was all fixed up yesterday, I could get on, I posted...it was fine...and then today, back to the glitches again :'( Sorry the chapter was late :( But I hope you liked it even though I tweaked the part with Moriarty in the Mind Palace ;)

I'm really glad you all enjoyed the wedding ;)

Lol, I hope you liked 'Liberty' popping up, I did hint she'd be back ;)

...I wonder what was in the bedroom though }:)

Some notes on reviews...

I think it's more the fact that Leena saw him jump and attended a funeral and had to pretend for 2 years he was dead (and Sherlock being cut off from her for 2 years) that's making them not want to be apart if they can help it :) They've both had nightmares and fears for the other in the 2 years, it'll take more than a few months for them to get over that separation and get back to being as independent as the were. They still are seeking reassurance that Sherlock's not actually dead and that Leena is with him once more ;)

Lol, I think Lestrade had a hand in the handcuffs, so hopefully he'd have given them the key ;)

I've found google translator is pretty fair, you just have to be prepared for what's been posted possibly being something you weren't expecting ;)


	7. His Last Vow: The French

His Last Vow: The French

Leena had all but locked her and Sherlock in his hospital room after he pulled through his surgery. She knew John would go to greet Mary outside, tell her the good news…and she was NOT going to let the woman anywhere near Sherlock, not at that moment though. She knew what Mary had done for him, the sacrifices she'd made that night but…she was afraid that, right at that moment, she would only see the woman who shot her husband, instead of one of her friends, the wife of a man that was like a brother to her, and the woman who had also saved her husband even as she shot him.

She knew John would be cross that she'd locked the door on him as well, and he had been (till she explained she just wanted Sherlock to sleep and she wanted to care for her husband…just slip 'playing nurse' in there and he was half running away from the room with Mary), but…she couldn't risk confronting Mary just then. Sherlock's first word upon waking had been 'Mary' which had, admittedly, surprised John a bit, he'd thought it was just a lingering affect of the faint perfume they'd gotten a whiff of in Magnussen's home that made him think of the woman…but she knew better. She'd been around those who had been attacked before, often the first thing they dreamed of was the attack, their first words related to it. Sherlock hadn't been worried for Mary, he'd been letting them know it WAS Mary that had shot him.

But it wasn't like she could really tell John that without proof. He trusted them, very much yes, but…Mary was his WIFE. Wife trumped best friend every time. It had taken days for Sherlock to be able to move enough to sit up in the hospital bed, and she hadn't left his side at all, she had even agreed to allow him to up the dosage of the morphine they'd given him…but Sherlock had refused it, refused it entirely, instead taking to holding her hand when the pains hit. He was adamant that there be NO drugs, no more drugs than were needed, no more drugs than he could handle, and that included morphine. She had stayed with him through it all and hadn't left for a second, most certainly NOT when Mary came to visit near the end of his stay there, keeping her eye on the woman at all times.

She and Sherlock had talked extensively about what to do and making sense of the situation. Before they realized that…it couldn't go on like that. Everything that had happened, from Sherlock hesitating to do anything to harm Mary to Mary shooting him where she had and not killing Magnussen afterwards…it all stemmed from her keeping everything a secret from John. If he'd known, they could have reacted better, if he'd known then Mary wouldn't have had to shoot him to try and keep him quiet.

It had been one of the most difficult decisions they'd had to make, because they knew what the consequences would be for John and Mary…but John…he needed to know the truth and Mary…she deserved to be free from whatever it was Magnussen had over her. Which was why Leena had signed Sherlock out of the hospital, only a short time before Lestrade and John had come to visit. It was fully, really, how leaving the window open and the bed a mess made one think a patient had escaped rather than checked out and that was just what they needed.

They needed John and Lestrade and a few others distracted…and they needed to get Mary alone. They needed her alone in a place she had no time to prepare for…so they needed her to come searching for them, for Sherlock. Make John think he'd run off, and he'd call Mary to let her know what was going on. They were sure John and Lestrade would think to check other places, like Parliament Hill, Camden Lock, Dagmar Court, the blind greenhouse in Kew Gardens, and the leaning tomb in Hampstead Cemetery. If they involved Molly and Mrs. Hudson they'd get even more ridiculous places like Molly's flat or behind the clock face of Big Ben.

But they knew that there was one person that would think to look in the places no one else would, Mary. She'd go to the person who 'knew Sherlock best' besides Leena, whose phone would mysteriously be off and her unreachable, and that was Anderson. He'd stalked…er, investigated…Sherlock so deeply he probably knew exactly where Sherlock would go.

Leinster Gardens.

Equally though, they knew that John and Mary were a team, they were equals…and just as Mary worked out where to go…John would work out quite a few other details. He'd figure out that Sherlock knew the person who shot him because he had face them down, and because of that he'd either track them down or protect them given the fact he hadn't said who it was. But…they also knew he was clever enough to realize that he HAD named his attacker.

That and the small bottle of Claire de la Lune that they'd left if 221B Baker Street for him to find.

They knew that they'd have to contact him though, tell him where to meet them because…he really did have to hear it from Mary himself. They both knew how they reacted themselves to accusations and rumors about the other. They hardly ever believed them, mostly because they both knew each other that well, they'd grown up together, gone to school together, been together for so long that they knew which rumors were plausible and which weren't. And even then they never fully believed it till they spoke to the other person about it. And that was the rub wasn't it? John felt like he knew Mary…but how well could he really know her? Somewhere in the two years that Sherlock had been away he'd met the woman, that was hardly 2 years long he'd known her…he knew what she told him, he knew what he saw with his own two eyes. He hadn't BEEN there, he hadn't grown up with her or seen the things she'd done, he didn't know her entire life story from the perspective of someone who had BEEN there alongside it.

But he felt like he knew her, he felt like she'd been honest with him, and because of that, because it was his wife, he wouldn't believe them without proof.

He wouldn't believe them if it didn't come from Mary herself.

And Mary wouldn't ever admit it to him.

Which meant things were about to get very, VERY tricky.

Leena looked over from where she and Sherlock were hiding in a small side room, completely dark, standing by the false window and looking out at the streets, her eyes on the corner. She glanced back at Sherlock as he stood in the darkness, his blue eye piercing at her as she nodded that Billy had fulfilled his part. They were hiding out in Leinster Gardens, having sent Billy out there to deliver a phone and headset to the woman. It was the first step in the process, have the upper hand. They were controlling the events from here on out, THEY picked the venue, they picked when she was alerted to where they were, they picked how she found them. They picked that they should LET her find them instead of having her sneak up on them.

Sherlock pulled out a phone and called out as Leena stepped past him to lean into the hallway, looking meaningfully at something at the end of the hall, nodding at it, before she shut the lights off and returned to the room once more, just as Mary picked up.

"Where are you?" Mary asked.

Leena looked at the door to the hall, she could hear the woman's voice echoing from there, the two of them having rigged up a small speaker system at the end of the hall so that everything spoken could be heard.

"Can't you see us?" Sherlock countered.

"Well, what am I looking for?"

"The lie, the lie of Leinster Gardens, hidden in plain sight. Hardly anyone notices. People live here for years and never see it, but if you are what Leena and I know you to be, it'll take you less than a minute. The houses, Mary. Look at the houses."

"How did you know I'd come here?"

"We knew you'd talk to the people no one else would bother with."

"I thought I was being clever," she laughed a bit.

"You're, surprisingly, always clever, Mary. Very nearly as clever as Leena."

"Very nearly?"

"I've been tutoring her since we were seven."

"Right," Mary murmured and they could almost hear the nod in her voice.

"We were relying on your cleverness though, and we planted the information for you to find," they waited, hearing her slow, and Leena nodded, Mary was right outside, "Thirty seconds."

"What am I looking at?"

"No door knobs, no letter box, painted windows. 23 and 24 Leinster Gardens the empty houses. They were demolished years ago to make way for the London Underground, a vent for the old steam trains. Only the very front section of the house remains. It's just a faç you of anyone, Mary? A façade?"

"If you're trying to use Leena's profiling techniques on me Sherlock, it won't work."

"Maybe this will," he gave Leena a nod of his own and she hit a button on her phone. A light sprang to life across the street, and there was a wide image being projected on the face of their building from it. A picture of Mary's face from her wedding, "Sorry. I never could resist a touch of drama. Do come in. It's a little cramped."

"She's coming," Leena whispered to him as she saw Mary walking up to the house.

"Do you own this place?" Mary wondered.

"Mhmm," he hummed, "I won it in a card game with the Clarence House Cannibal. Nearly cost me my kidneys…Leena nearly scalped me for it, but fortunately I had a straight flush," they fell silent, hearing the door just outside in the hall open, "Quite a gambler, that woman."

They glanced at each other, knowing that Mary was inside now. Outside that room, the small room they were standing in, was a long hallway set up between the two house, a very narrow hall, with hardly any way to go besides to the end and back. Just outside their room, at the end of the hall, there would be the dimmest of lights, revealing in only a silhouette, of a man, with his collar up, its hair messy. It was a stark contrast to the end of the hall that Mary was standing in, brightly lit.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" Mary asked, tapping off her headset now that she was right across from him, or thought she was.

"Leena did her digging, the moment she met you, you know," Sherlock spoke, the two of them able to hear his voice still projected from the end of the hall, the darker end, "Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. She's got a grave in Chiswick Cemetery. The next time that name arose was five years ago, when you acquired her name, date of birth, and identity. Leena deals in recluses, she recognized the signs, you weren't an orphan Mary, had you been…more of your friends would have known you longer than five years," he tsked her, "It's an old enough technique, known to the kinds of people who can recognize a skip-code on sight," he reminded her of how easily she'd known it, "Have extraordinarily retentive memories outside the scope of a natural affinity," and there was how she'd remembered the room that Sholto had stayed in…

"You were very slow," Mary defended.

"You know, Leena did bring up a very good question as we spoke in the hospital…how good a shot _are_ you?" he smirked, "Yes, she knows what you did. She smelled the perfume as well. She knows all about your skills Mary, we both do, we've read the reports, the missions, the cases…but we've yet to see it in action. So I ask again…just how good are you?"

Leena snuck closer to the small doorway, open just a crack to face the hall, able to see Mary standing halfway down it, between their door and the figure at the end of the hall, the woman pulling out a pistol and cocking it as she asked, "How badly do you want to find out?"

"If you think my wife hasn't thought of this possibility, then you've gravely underestimated her," Sherlock warned, "It's her job to profile criminals, to get in their minds, think like them. She's aware there IS a possibility that you would shoot me dead here and now to keep your secret…though you should be aware, if I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that even without me or Leena helping them. I ask once more…how good are you? Go on. Show me. The doctor's wife must be a _little_ bit bored by now."

Leena held up her phone, recording as Mary pulled out a coin from her pocket. She glanced up at the ceiling and flicked the coin, firing the gun at it…and watching as it fell to the floor with a hole in it, nearly in the center but just slightly off. She let out a breath and stopped the recording, nodding at Sherlock as she pushed the door open slowly, the two of them stepping out behind the woman.

"Can we see?" Leena called as Sherlock ended the call, standing beside her.

Mary didn't gasp or tense, merely looked at the figure at the end of the corridor, the unmoving figure, before she turned her back on it and faced them, "It's a dummy," she stated, "I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick."

"Never suppose anything," Leena warned.

Mary nodded, glancing down and kicking the coin down the hall to them. Sherlock moved to pick it up, when Leena put a hand on his arm to stop him, giving him a pointed look at his wound before she knelt down and picked it up for him, holding it up for them both to see when she stood.

He reached out and took the coin, looking at the hole in it, "And yet, over a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot," Leena watched him carefully as he nearly swayed on his feet, his voice full of pain as he looked at the coin, he was paler than she knew he should be, panting, sweating, and she knew, she knew his stitches must be straining from all the moving around he'd done, "Enough to hospitalize me, not enough to kill me. That wasn't a miss, that was surgery."

Leena eyed Mary closely as she looked down, seeming to truly feel guilty for what she'd done, "Mary…you KNOW we'll help you."

She looked up at them, startled, clearly she hadn't expected that given the fact that she'd shot Sherlock, she'd shot one of her truest friend's husband, and there they were…saying they were still there for her, "You…will?"

"Of course we will, Mary…" she shook her head, "You SHOULD have come to us first. We could have avoided all of this."

"I couldn't," Mary breathed, tears in her eyes, "Because John would end up involved and he can't ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever," she swallowed hard, "And I will _never_ let that happen," she looked at the two of them as they stood there, looking at her solemnly "Please," she begged, "You two of all people must understand…there is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening."

Leena let out a breath, "Mary…the reason why WE work," she gestured between her and Sherlock, "The profiler and the sociopath…is because there are NO secrets between us."

"Sorry," Sherlock added, reaching out a shaky hand to the fusebox Leena had used to turn the lights off, "Not _that_ obvious a trick," he flicked them back on…the two of them able to see John sitting at the end of the corridor, looking at Mary with a hard expression as the woman herself tensed, her face reflecting her dread as she worked out, without even needing to turn, what had happened.

Mary took a breath and turned to see John with his collar up, his hair ruffled, just…staring at her. He slowly stood, folding his collar down, smoothing his hair just…looking at her.

"You two need to talk," Leena told them softly, "You need to sort this out. And you need to do it now," she glanced at Sherlock, the man standing with his hands clenched in fists, his knuckles practically white from effort to not let on that something was wrong.

But SHE could see it, this was what he always did when he was in pain and trying to keep it from her. She also knew this particular version of his stance…it was one where he absolutely refused to let even her 'please' sway him from hiding his pain till whatever needed to be done was done.

So she needed to make sure that the Watsons resolved their tiff and quickly.

~8~

Six months later…

Leena smiled, humming lightly under her breath as she stood at a kitchen counter in a quaint little cottage, the Holmes Family winter cottage. It was like a small vacation house, but a cozy version of it, the one that the Holmeses would venture to when they wanted to escape their larger home and just have a closer family moment. She had been invited to quite a few of them, not as many as she'd have liked she actually got to attend. Sherlock could take some doing to be convinced to spend time with his parents for the holidays.

But there they were, her in the kitchen, cutting out small shapes for Christmas cookies she was making, while Mrs. Holmes puttered about beside her, Mr. Holmes outside and gathering firewood. The entire room, the entire cottage really was decorated for Christmas for it truly was.

Officially too even. It wasn't a true Holmes Holiday till someone disappointed another, mostly that happened in a joking way, though there had been a time or two where Sherlock or Mycroft went a bit too far and disappointed their parents. Like one time when Mycroft had 'accidently' smashed a lovely china doll that Sherlock had gotten her for a Christmas, or another time where Sherlock had been completely strung out and nearly overdosed after dinner. This year though, it was HER turn to disappoint Mummy Holmes. But it was nowhere NEAR as bad as the boys had been in their lives. Mrs. Holmes, upon seeing the rather pregnant Mary joining them with John, had asked her when SHE would be expecting her first grandchild.

She was quite sure she'd started choking on nothing at that point and had to regretfully tell the woman that she was not pregnant. Her excuse was that she was giving Sherlock time to actually exist around a baby before they attempted one of their own. There was no doubt in her mind or Sherlock's…especially not after John and Mary had each asked them individually…that they would be the godparents of whatever child they had. The two wanted to be surprised…though both she and Sherlock knew the gender (and they were quite certain that John had snuck a peek). Sherlock had, somehow, managed to deduce it, while she had merely hacked into the hospital's records from Mary's last checkup. But they both knew they'd be around the boy or girl when it was born, they'd be called in when John and Mary needed a break from the screaming baby and would gladly take over. Well, SHE would, it really would depend on Sherlock what happened.

She knew she was…fair…when it came to babies. She'd been able to be around her friend JJ and Hotchner's children, Henry and Jack, when they were babies. She knew how to hold them and change them and feed them and burp them. She knew she'd be able to make do…would certainly have to do some more research and other preparations before having an actual baby of her own. But…Sherlock was the one to keep an eye on. He had never really been around screaming infants much. She could already picture it though, a baby screaming and him picking it up and just…holding it straight out in front of him, and shouting for her or John that 'the thing's making noise again!' or something like that. Or him sitting on his armchair, with the baby set up in a highchair before him, a small bit of baby food on the arm of the chair as he sat there, hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, finger tips together as he pressed them to his chin and narrowed his eyes at the baby, trying to deduce the best way to get the food in its mouth without a mess.

It would be…an interesting experience. But she knew that she and Sherlock couldn't rush into that. He HAD made some passing remarks that made her suspicious he was actively considering a child, that he…wouldn't be adverse to it. She knew it would probably have something to do with the passing on his superior genetics to the next generation, making the world a more tolerable place with a miniature him running around or something. She couldn't be quite sure though, children were…an odd topic for them. She knew that, at times, Sherlock could get in over his head, take on something he thought he could handle, something he thought he'd be very excited for…and then be let down by it, or feel like he wasn't thrilled with it anymore. He'd once been obsessed with the accordion, had gone on and on about it, half-begged his parents for lessons…and then quit it from sheer irritation and claimed it was a lapse in judgment to have attempted such lessons.

She thought he'd been rather good actually, but she knew that with Sherlock one had to be careful to not go too fast, to not push him out of his comfort zone no matter if HE thought he was ready or not. She, as terrible as it was to think, wanted to try and use John and Mary's child as a test run, if Sherlock could handle him/her, then she would know better how he'd be around their own child.

"Oh, dear God," Mycroft, who was sitting at the kitchen table, complained, pulling her attention over to him, "It's only two o'clock. It's been Christmas Day for at least a _week_ now."

Leena glanced over at Sherlock as he sat in a chair in the back of the kitchen, in his typical suit with a dark gray shirt on this time, which made her chuckle a bit, he matched her a bit. She was wearing a thick and rather long gray jumper, with black pants as well. It didn't happen often where they dressed alike in similar colors, she loved it when it happened though.

"How can it only be two o'clock?!" Mycroft continued to lament, making Leena roll her eyes at him, "I'm in agony!"

"I am as well if you don't stop talking," Leena grumbled under her breath, Mrs. Holmes chuckling as she heard it, heading to the table.

"Mikey, is this your laptop?" Mrs. Holmes asked, trying to get the food all set up, her chopping board on top of it with a potato on it.

"On which depends the security of the free world, yes," Mycroft's eyes narrowed, "And you've got potatoes on it."

"Well, you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important."

"Why are we doing this? We _never_ do this."

"We are here because Sherlock is home from hospital and we are all very happy," Mrs. Holmes said exasperatedly.

"Am _I_ happy too?" he offered her a smile that screamed the opposite, "I haven't checked."

"Secretly you are," Leena called, turning to put the cookies in the oven, "And don't bother to lie," she called, her back to him as he opened his mouth to counter, "Profiler!"

"Listen to your sister and behave, Mike," Mrs. Holmes agreed.

"_Mycroft_ is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end," Mycroft glared at her, "And she's NOT my sister."

"She's your sister-in-law, that's good enough."

"Mrs. Holmes?" Billy called, entering the room with a cup of punch that had piece of fruit floating in it in hand, having been invited there with John and Mary.

"Which one?" Sherlock glanced up, offering a small smile at Leena when he saw her smiling widely at that. He had jokingly, and seriously, called her Mrs. Holmes quite often before they'd actually gotten married, but now that she really WAS a Mrs. Holmes…it just…gave her chills when anyone called her that now. The best chills.

"Oh, her um…the first one?" Billy supplied, not quite sure if it would be good to call the mother the 'older' one.

"Oh!" Mrs. Holmes smiled, taking the glass, "Thank you, dear. Not absolutely sure why you're here," she took a sip.

"Leena and I invited him," Sherlock called, standing and moving to the counter where Leena was rolling out the next set of dough.

"I'm his protégé, Mrs. 'olmes," Billy told her, "When 'e dies, I get all his stuff, an' 'is job."

"No," Sherlock didn't even look over as he reached out and snuck a bit of dough away, popping it into his mouth as Leena rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh. Well, I help out a bit."

"Warmer," Leena smirked, slapping Sherlock's hand gently with a small spatula when he went for more dough.

"If 'e _does_ get murdered or something…"

"Probably stop talking now," Sherlock called.

"Ok."

"Lovely when you bring your friends round," Mycroft remarked to his brother.

"Stop it you," Mrs. Holmes pointed warningly at Mycroft, "Somebody's put a bullet in my boy and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous," Sherlock and Leena glanced at each other, sharing a small smile, wondering just what the woman would do if she found out the 'somebody' was the pregnant woman sitting curled up in an armchair in the next room, "Ah," she spotted something, a small mug of decaffeinated tea, "This was for Mary. I'll be back in a minute," she smiled, humming as she walked off.

Sherlock looked over at Leena when he saw her smiling slyly, 'What?' his expression mirrored his thoughts.

She just grinned and held up a plate of finished cookies, 'Want one?' she smirked, seeing him immediately take one. For all his 'I don't eat on a case' remarks…Sherlock did have a small sweet tooth for a certain type of cookie or two, but just fresh baked ones. He could NEVER say no to them.

"John?" she called out, seeing John enter the room on his way to the sitting room that Mary was waiting in, "Care for one?" she held the plate up as well.

"Oh, er…no," he offered her a distracted smile, continuing on, "Thanks."

Leena nodded, watching him go.

"More for me then," Sherlock snagged John's portion as Leena shook her head at him, though her smile grew as she watched John disappear into the sitting room, Mr. Holmes stepping out moments after his wife had.

"Those two," the man pointed at the door he'd shut to give the Watsons some privacy, "They alright?"

"Well, you know," Sherlock shrugged, "They've had their ups and downs."

"They'll be just fine," Leena assured him, knowing why John had gone in there, what he was going to do, something that had…taken some doing to get him to think about but now she knew he had given her words some consideration and that was all she wanted.

~8~

_3 months ago…_

_John sat in a small diner, along the wall, the glass wall that faced the street, a cup of tea before him, just…lost in thought. He'd frequented the café/diner quite a bit in the last few months, just…needing a place away from Mary to think. It was…he just didn't know. He'd moved past shock, his anger had calmed only slightly, but…the sting of betrayal was lasting longer than he thought it would. He'd been telling Sherlock the truth when he told the man that Mary wasn't meant to be the way she was, she was meant to be his escape from that life._

_He wasn't sure what was bothering him more, that Mary wasn't his escape, that she wasn't the sweet innocent woman he thought she was…or the fact that he was almost glad she wasn't an escape, because he wasn't sure he actually wanted to escape the life he had. What sort of man was he? When he'd just barely met Sherlock he'd openly admitted, near desperately, that he had wanted to see death and violence again, he could remember how he sounded now, like…like an addict needing a fix. And with Billy, how he'd attacked him, it was like he needed that excitement, that fight, that danger of a knife aimed at him…and reacted. He'd nearly been burned in a bonfire and, not even 12 hours later, he was back in 221B Baker Street once more, getting involved…what sort of man was he that he kept coming back to that? What sort of man was he that his wife could shoot his best friend and he didn't pack his bags and leave?_

_"You're wondering if you're a masochist, aren't you?" a voice said beside him before Leena sat down next to him, her own cup of tea before her._

_"What?" he straightened, blinking at her, that was not a question he expected._

_She smiled, "You're wondering if there's something wrong with you, because despite being hurt by someone…you still can't think about giving them up," she reached out and touched his arm, "I know that I can't relate in the scope of what Mary did John…but I can very much relate to the pain. We've both been hurt, at one point, by the person we love the most and…"_

_He scoffed a bit bitterly at that, "As though Sherlock would ever truly hurt you Jacks."_

_She was silent a long while, looking at her tea, before taking a breath, "Mycroft never told you, did he? About just how bad Sherlock had been before he cleaned up?" she glanced at him, he could only shake his head slightly, "Imagine the worst drug addict you'd seen…and ad a smidge worse to it. Because Sherlock…half the time it wasn't even the addiction, it was the boredom of it all that drove him to it. And you know him, he's always bored," she swallowed hard, "He…"_

_"You…don't have to tell me Jacks," John cut in, he knew how hard it was to talk about someone you loved when they were in the throes of addiction, he had a hard time really and truly talking about Harry with anyone, most of the time he glossed over it or played it off, "If it's too hard, I…"_

_"There were times I had to clean the vomit off him," she continued as though he hadn't stopped her, "Times I had to physically turn him on his stomach so he wouldn't choke on it. I had to bandage his arms when he couldn't get the needles in and ended up half cutting himself, literally tearing his skin ripping the needles out and jamming them in. I had to go into the drug dens, like you did, and drag him out of there at times, sometimes I could lead him out, others he was so strung out that I literally had to DRAG him," she rubbed her head, "That was just some examples John," she looked at him, "I covered for him, more than I should have, enabled him when I didn't even realize I'd done it…till one day I just…had enough."_

_"What did you do?" he frowned, knowing that could have many different meanings._

_"I picked him up at a rave," she shook her head at the sheer absurdity of it, "He'd gone for the ecstasy, and got him to a cab. He passed out on the way back but I managed to wake him enough to walk him to MY flat. I got us to my room…and I literally barricaded us in there for days John. I took everything that he could use as a weapon out of there, really only left some food, some water, my mattress and blankets in there in the end. I locked us in…the both of us. I stayed in there with him while he detoxed."_

_"Jesus," John breathed, he'd seen that process in quite a few addicts over his time as a doctor…it wasn't easy._

_"Yeah," she nodded, "I actually prayed to god a few times," she admitted, before sighing, "They always say the first three days are the hardest…they lie. It's so much worse. I had to sit there while he shook, holding him as the tremors of withdrawal hit him. I had to listen to him screaming obscenities and threats at me, calling me…the worst, most vulgar, cruel names you could imagine and…Sherlock Holmes does get creative and poetic when he's worked up," she swallowed, "One day, near the end…he hit me."_

_"Jackie…" he shook his head, completely startled at that, the care he always saw Sherlock giving her…it was hard to imagine him doing something like that to her. He knew Sherlock had once had a drug problem, but he'd never even considered how he would have acted to Leena while under their influence._

_"He hurt me John, more physically than Mary hurt you," she got them back to point, "But I DO know what it's like to feel betrayed by the person you love. To see them turn into a liar before your eyes. To see them become something you don't even recognize anymore," she gave him a small, sad smile, "The difference is though…Mary…her lies and her secrets were things she was trying to protect you from."_

_"Feels more like she's being selfish," he muttered._

_"Could be," she shrugged, startling him again at how she hadn't defended Mary, but she wasn't done yet, "That drive she gave you John…I know what's on it," she told him, "I read her file, I MADE a file of her on my own, I doubt there's anything on that disc that Sherwood and I don't know and…yes, maybe Mary was being selfish. Because five years ago she ran, she ran away from that life. For years she was living the life of Mary Morstan, to get away from it, to escape it," she nudged him, "And then she met YOU. I won't tell you what's on the files John, because everything there…it's everything she's been trying to forget herself, for years before she even met you. It's everything she doesn't want to remember, everything she doesn't want to be anymore. Maybe she was selfish at first, so was Sherlock. But you know what…Sherlock never broke a promise to me after he got clean and…Mary, all she's got to her name now, quite literally, is YOU. She GAVE you her past John," she looked at him meaningfully, "She gave you everything she had to deal with on her own. It's up to you what she'll deal with in the future and how much of it you'll be a part of."_

_She looked at him a moment longer, having spoke her piece, to see him looking at his tea, lost in thought. She nodded to herself and got up, turning to go when John reached out and took her hand, "Jacks," he began, "What did you do? When Sherlock…hurt you."_

_She blinked and smirked, "What do YOU think I did?"_

_"Gave him hell for it."_

_She laughed, "I hit him so hard I broke his nose," she confided in him._

_"You've definitely got some fight in you," he managed a small chuckle, trying to make her feel less…unhappy with how the conversation had gone to that topic._

_"Yeah," she shrugged, before taking a breath, "But John…there's a difference between fighting Sherlock…and fighting the drugs," she looked at him, "I was NOT going to give him up without fighting with everything I had to keep him. If I lost, then I lost, but I had to at least TRY to fight the shadows in him," she squeezed his hand, "And right now, what YOU need to ask yourself…is are you going to keep fighting with Mary or are you going to fight for Mary," she squeezed his hand one more time, "Just…think about it."_

_She pulled her hand away gently and walked out of the café/diner, hoping that she'd been able to help them both, even if just a little._

~8~

She knew it had been hard for John to bear, finding out the truth about Mary, she'd tried to give him some time between when he'd learned about her and when she'd spotted him in the café. It has been…something to see John quite as furious as he'd been after they'd returned to 221B that night they'd revealed the truth to Mary. They knew there were probably better ways they could have gone about it, showing him the truth but…time was of the essence. With Magnussen aware that Mary had come after him, it was even more sway and leverage he had on her, things were going to get very tricky and very dangerous after she let him live, and they had learned enough from each other and their own experience that John, of all people, deserved to know what he was getting into. If he had no idea that Magnussen had control of Mary like that…he wouldn't be prepared to stop the man. And really…THAT was the point wasn't it.

Magnussen controlled Mary, by holding all the things she'd done in the past over her head, threatening to tell John about them. If John already knew…Mary was free. Or at least freer. They were sure there were loads that Magnussen could still do with the information he had, but at least he wouldn't control Mary anymore and it meant there was that much less control the man had over John. They'd worked it out, between the two of them, Magnussen's plans, why he was so focused on Mary and manipulating her, like sending her that telegram at her wedding. He controlled Mary, controlling her meant controlling John, controlling John meant controlling them (to a degree), and then anyone who might have ties to them above them would be controlled as well.

Mycroft.

Control the man's baby brother and sister-in-law…and he controlled Mycroft, control Mycroft and Magnussen had control, essentially, over the entire government.

And they were NOT about to let their home fall to a man like Magnussen…especially not while Mrs. Hudson still resided in Baker Street.

They hadn't quite got a chance to explain that to John though as the man had been understandably upset about it all, about finding out the woman he'd married wasn't who he thought she was. It had been one reason she'd wanted to go see him, talk to him, because she firmly believed that the Mary that they saw, the one they knew, the one he married, was the real Mary, the one that existed without the burdens of her past, the one she could be without being forced on missions and other things. THIS was the Mary she wanted to be, the Mary she truly was. John…hadn't grasped that as quickly as they'd hoped though.

He'd stormed into 221B with Mary behind him, the two of them after the feuding couple, Mrs. Hudson fretting and frantic behind them, though while Mrs. Hudson focused on the fuming John and subdued Mary, SHE had kept sending Sherlock worried glances and checking her watch to see (time) how long it would take the ambulance she'd called to get there and help him. Sherlock hadn't quite handled the pain of moving around as well as he had while lying in the hospital, he'd started to snap at Mrs. Hudson till she'd taken his hand subtly, letting him squeeze it as hard as needed to help the pain.

John hadn't noticed that either, how pale and trembling and terrible Sherlock looked. He'd fumed and ranted and raved, wondering if everyone he knew was a psychopath, to which Sherlock had bluntly answered 'yes.' John had taken that as Sherlock trying to be funny and had snapped at that as well before wondering what he'd done in his life that meant he'd deserved Mary, as though she were some sort of punishment when all three of them were aware, even if John was not, that she was quite the opposite. She was…his fix, his fix of adrenaline or whatever it was he himself was addicted to, danger, threats, fighting, what have you.

Sherlock, in a rather touching display, had seriously remarked that it was just about everything John had done in his life that had led him to Mary. She had gotten him sitting down as he struggled to breathe a bit, looking between him and John worriedly before she elaborated, seeing Sherlock was in no fit state to keep talking so much, and pointed out everything about John that he hadn't noticed. He was a DOCTOR…yet he'd gone to war, he'd volunteered for it. She brought up how he'd been on his 'honeymoon' for a month…and had burst into a drug den and sprained poor Billy's arm. And then, of course, she'd had to remind him that his best friend was a sociopath, his wife was as close to an assassin as they could get, SHE was married to said sociopath and had openly admitted she too had helped Sherlock plot out the death of their friends at times, before adding that even Mrs. Hudson, his landlady, had a shady past.

It was all obvious when they looked at it, how he reacted, the way he held himself, the way he leapt at certain opportunities…John Watson himself was addicted to the life he'd chosen and built for himself, to danger, to dangerous situations, dangerous people, dangerous women too if Mary was anything to go by. She'd trailed off a bit when she realized she'd just deduced John like Sherlock often did, though a bit more politely than Sherlock would have.

John, poor John though, he'd truly believed Mary wasn't supposed to be the way she was. But the fact was…John had chosen her for a reason, addicts were always drawn to their source, whether it meant working in a bar while recovering from alcoholism, keeping drugs in books to remind oneself not to take them, or marrying a dangerous woman in disguise. Everyone had their own way of dealing with their addictions in what they hoped would end up being a healthy manner. She'd pointed out that, subconsciously, he'd picked up on all those little signs that Sherlock and she had, all the little things that didn't fit with the 'nurse' that Mary was, and had latched onto that, drawn him in more and more. He'd sensed the truth about Mary, and he STILL fell in love with her…

And that had set John off again, feeling like they were trying to make it all their fault. When he'd kicked a chair over they'd realized that he needed to calm down, they needed a familiar situation for him to be able to process all of it. Sherlock had reverted to 'client' mode, getting John to at least see Mary as a potential client who needed their help instead of his lying wife or the woman carrying his child. They'd all sat down after that, Sherlock having been in his armchair with Leena on the arm of it since they'd gotten to the flat, John moving to sit in his own chair across from them while Mary was placed on a single chair from the kitchen between them, John treating her as nothing more than a client, which was expected, it was the only way he could cope, to disassociate himself from her and try to get the whole story ABOUT her instead.

Mary had given John a flash drive then, with A.G.R.A, her initials on it. To John it was just another reminder that he didn't know who she was, but to Mary…it was her past. That drive contained everything, her past, her files, her previous missions…she'd been terrified that John was look at them, take just one glance, and not love her anymore. Leena had offered more information, bringing out her own file, hidden in the bookshelf of Mary and what they gleamed of her. She'd kept it basic, what she said out loud, knowing that John didn't need to know specifics, that would be up to him to read the drive. But they were able to explain to him that Mary had once been an intelligence agent, not likely from England to start, but having adapted to it well. She was running from something, had used every skill and resource she could to disappear, become someone else, but Magnussen knew.

John had, by then, worked out that Mary had been the one to kill Sherlock, that she'd originally been there to kill Magnussen. It wasn't hard for any of them to venture that Mary had befriended Janine for the same reason Leena had, to get access to the man. The information they had managed to gather, much like that of Magnussen, was most certainly enough to send Mary to prison indefinitely, so she'd determined to use her skills to stop him, to stop him doing what he was to her to others as well, which just reaffirmed that she was, in fact, an assassin. John had tried to claim he hadn't seen it, but they all knew he was only fooling himself with that remark. He HAD seen it, on some level, and he still went ahead and married her because she really was exactly what he had needed.

Leena had smiled when Sherlock said that they would help her, that they'd get all the files that Magnussen had on her back. It had shocked Mary for certain, she had SHOT the man and he still wanted to help. Leena had said it was because she was John's wife, Sherlock had agreed, but added that they both knew that, even though she'd shot him…she'd saved him as well. Because when she'd shot him…she had CHOSEN the area to fire at. Her skill shooting the coin only proved it, she had meant to shoot him where she had instead of right in the head, point blank. She had a witness, one she couldn't kill, and one who, in being unable to kill him, had forced her not to kill Magnussen either. They both knew Mary hadn't been able to bring herself to kill him that way though, one shot through the head…and he'd have been taken care of yet she chose to merely incapacitate him so she could later beg him not to say. It only partially worked out in her favor for Magnussen though. In leaving him alive she kept John from being a suspect in the man's murder (if they found Sherlock there bleeding and Magnussen dead, they'd suspect whoever had come with Sherlock of doing it). In leaving him alive it also made it more certain that Magnussen would use her presence there and threaten to tell John about it instead of giving her past information to the police as it seemed he might have originally threatened to do.

I leaving both men alive, she'd been able to knock out Magnussen and call an ambulance as she was leaving, five minutes before Leena and John had found him. Especially because the ambulances of London took about eight minutes to get somewhere, as Leena had timed after calling them for Sherlock's would that she was certain was no longer just straining but had reopened. And Sherlock, in his true dramatic fashion, had nearly scared Leena half to death again that night, in waiting so long to get medical attention for his wound, he'd ended up bleeding internally and nearly ended up with his heart stopping a second time in mere hours.

The only good thing that had come out of that second visit was Leena had had an excuse to enforce 'doctor's orders' on Sherlock and force him to relax and stay in bed. She'd sighed at how she'd had to dismantle her surprise for Sherlock. Honestly, Mycroft and John peek into a bedroom and see a camera set up in front of the bed and they just assumed the worst! Naughty boys with their heads in the gutter. She hadn't been planning anything like that. She'd just…she'd wanted to surprise Sherlock with her own little video of herself just…talking to him.

It was…what she hoped would be…the last step she needed to really come to terms with what Sherlock had done with his jump from St. Bart's and to really have closure that he was back with her. ALL she had had when he'd jumped were the videos she'd used to help clear his name to Lestrade, Riley, Donovan, and Anderson, and hardly any else. What she wouldn't have given to have a video of Sherlock just…smiling and winking at her, just something that was…him, in his normal course of the day, but doing something even a little special. So she'd wanted to do it herself, she'd wanted to leave a video message, just of her truly telling him how she felt about him, how much she loved him, WHAT she loved about him, and just…wanting to give him a comfort. She didn't mean for it to be a suicide note or anything like that, NOT at all! But she wanted it to be a back up, if anything happened to her on the course of solving crimes…she wanted to leave him with something for closure.

Watching it in every day context, it would be just a sweet message, like something to give on an anniversary, like a personal card for any day of the year. But if anything fatal ever happened to her, it would be a comfort to Sherlock afterwards. THAT was all she'd been planning to do with the video, but leave it to John and Mycroft to assume something else would be happening on the bed. Neither she nor Sherlock were interested in that.

Still…she HAD managed to do something else rather fun with the bed…handcuff Sherlock's less injured side to the headboard at times. It was the ONLY way to keep him from getting up and wandering the flat and tearing his stitches again! The handcuffs Lestrade had provided for the wedding (that they'd kept and refused to return) were quite…handy in that sense. And she'd gotten to play nurse too, which was always fun for her.

And speaking of nurse…she nearly rolled her eyes when she saw Sherlock slip outside, Mycroft joining him moments later. Neither men were the 'outdoors' sort so for them to willingly go outside instead of stay in the comfy house…and for them to both go together and willingly without murdering each other or being ordered to go by their mother…she knew cigarettes were going to come into play.

"Could you watch this batch for me?" she called to Mrs. Holmes as she grabbed her own jacket.

"Of course Jackie dear," Mrs. Holmes smiled at her, waving her off, knowing she was likely going outside to keep her boys from either getting in trouble or getting in a fight. She always had been quite the conundrum as a child, especially with Sherlock, she always seemed to be the reason he fought his brother so much, what with Mycroft doing something to upset her constantly, while also being the thing that pulled him back from fighting his brother.

Leena smiled, "Thanks," and stepped out of the house to see the two idly standing by the front gate, Mycroft with a cigarette in hand though, thankfully, Sherlock did not.

"…you hate him?" Mycroft was asking Sherlock as she quietly approached.

"I asked Leena to profile him," Sherlock shrugged, "According to the profile…he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets."

"You put that much stock in a characterization?" Mycroft shot him a look.

"Name one instance where Leena's profile has been wrong," Sherlock shot back, "What I can't work out is why YOU don't hate him as well."

Mycroft shrugged, "He never causes too much damage to anyone important. He's far too intelligent for that. He's a businessman, that's all, and occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil, not a dragon for you to slay."

"A dragon slayer? Is that what you think of me?"

"No. It's what you think of yourself."

"I rather think you're the dragon," Leena called, making them jump and her grin, it wasn't often someone could sneak up on not just one but two Holmes brothers, "'My armor is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath death.'"

"Quoting 'The Hobbit' now?" Sherlock smirked at her.

"I love Smaug," she shrugged, stepping to his side, "He's my favorite dragon. And speaking of," she glanced at Mycroft, "You may want to put that out before your mother peeks out the window again."

Mycroft glanced back at the house before quickly tossing his cigarette to the ground and squishing it with his foot, not willing to risk the wrath of their mother, "I have, by the way," he added to Sherlock, "A job offer I should like you to decline."

"I decline your kind offer," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I shall pass on your regrets."

"What offer was it?" Leena frowned, there weren't many offers that Mycroft actually WANTED Sherlock to turn down.

"MI6," he sighed, "They want to place him back into Eastern Europe," he looked away, seeing Leena stiffen at that, at the possibility that Sherlock would have been taken away again, "An undercover assignment that would prove fatal to him in, I think, about six months."

"Then why don't you want me to take it?" Sherlock looked at him, honestly and genuinely confused.

Leena shook her head at that, it was the same old thing, Sherlock never could see just how much Mycroft really did love him…under his typical disdainful expression.

"It's tempting," Mycroft remarked, "But on balance you have more utility closer to home."

"Utility?" Sherlock scoffed, "How do _I_ have utility?"

"_'_Here be dragons,'" Mycroft smirked, before turning to the house, "I'm going in," he told them, heading for the door, only to stop as he reached it and sigh, "Also…your loss would break my heart."

Sherlock, who had just turned to ask something of Leena, started coughing on air, "What the _hell_ am I supposed to say to that?!" Sherlock rounded on his brother as Leena laughed and patted his back.

"Merry Christmas?" Mycroft shrugged with a smirk.

"You're the Grinch," Leena shook her head, "You loathe Christmas."

"Yes," Mycroft agreed, "Perhaps there was something in the punch."

"Clearly," Sherlock shook his head at his brother, "Go and have some more," they waited till Mycroft had gone inside before he looked at Leena once more, "Do you think they've finished their domestic yet?" he inquired, referring to the two Watsons who had been on the outs the last few months.

"I think so," she nodded.

"Good," he straightened, "I don't understand why so many people get into situations like that."

"Like what?" she shook her head, "A little tiff?"

"Where they refuse to speak to their wife," he corrected, "I could barely stand the first hour of my 2 years without you. I can't imagine not speaking to you willingly."

She smiled at that, "And I DO love hearing you talk Locksley," she linked her arm through his, "Your voice is the best sound in the world to me."

He felt himself starting to smile at that as well…when a small beep went off on Leena's wrist, a small wristwatch, "It's time," she looked at him, "It should be kicking in now."

"And so the game resumes," Sherlock murmured, turning to lead them into the house only minutes after Mycroft had entered. And there the man was, sitting at the kitchen table, but with his head down on it, passed out…which meant the others had to be as well. They just had to check and make sure no one had taken too big a dose and then they could be off.

"Mary!" they heard John calling from the next room, "Can you hear me?"

"She's fine John," Leena answered as Sherlock strode through to grab his scarf, "Just…don't drink her tea or the punch…or anything liquid really…"

"What?!" John ran after them as Sherlock strode out of the room once more, into a small study where Mr. Holmes was lying on a sofa, his eyes closed, Mrs. Holmes in an armchair nearby.

Sherlock moved to his mother while Leena checked his father, placing their hands by the other's nose to see if they were breathing, and they were, quite normally, the perfect dose. They quickly made their way back to the kitchen and grabbed Mycroft's laptop off the table.

"Did you just drug my pregnant wife?!" John called after them.

"Don't worry," Sherlock waved him off, "Wiggins is an excellent chemist."

"Thank you William," Leena smiled as the boy stepped into the room.

"I calculated your wife's dose meself," he reassured John…or tried to, "Won't affect the little one. I'll keep an eye on 'er."

"He'll monitor their recovery," Sherlock added, putting on his scarf, "It's more or less his day job."

John just blinked and stared at them, "What the hell have you done?"

"It's not what we have done," Leena sighed, "It's what we're about to do," before she headed for the door where they could see and hear a helicopter approaching.

This was…the dangerous part. They'd met Magnussen in a small diner after they'd gotten Sherlock out of the hospital. Well, the man had met THEM there, but they'd contacted him first…they wanted to make a deal. They had to get access to Appledore, they needed to get Mary's files back, especially now as they would really rather her not shoot Sherlock again and that made it of the upmost importance to get in there and get the files out. The only way they could do that though…was to give the man what he wanted…

Mycroft.

Or at least Mycroft's information.

"There's our lift," Sherlock remarked, serious, which made John worry as they looked out at the helicopter landing in the small field before the cottage, "Coming?" Sherlock glanced at John as he and Leena started to head off.

"Where?" John shook his head, completely at a loss.

"D'you want your wife to be safe?"

"Yeah, of _course_ I do."

"Then you need to come with us John," Leena called to him above the helicopter's noise, "And I'm sorry, I really am, but this is going to be the most dangerous situation we've been in."

Sherlock nodded, "One false move and we'll have betrayed the security of the United Kingdom and be in prison for high treason. Magnussen is quite simply the most dangerous man we've ever encountered, and the odds are comprehensively stacked against us."

"But it's _Christmas_!" John shouted.

"I feel the same," Sherlock grinned…before seeing John's expression was most certainly NOT one of joy, "Oh, you mean it's _actually_ Christmas. Did you bring your gun as I suggested?"

"Why would I bring my gun to your parents' house for Christmas dinner?!"

"It's hidden in your belt isn't it?" Leena guessed.

John sighed, "Yes."

"Profiler John," Leena laughed, "I know you better than you know you."

"Off we go, then," Sherlock offered Leena his arm as they jogged across the grounds towards the helicopter, ducking low to avoid the gusts and the blades.

"Where are we going?" John shouted over the noise of it all.

"Appledore," was all Sherlock said.

~8~

Magnussen's home appeared exactly as it had on the blueprints, large, spacious, modern, with guards everywhere that escorted the trio to the house as soon as they were out of the helicopter, led right to a sitting room of sorts where Magnussen was just lounging, sipping a drink, watching some sort of footage on what appeared to be a holographic monitor before him.

"I would offer you a drink," the man said, nodding his guards away and lifting his glass to them, "But it's very rare and expensive."

Sherlock took Leena's hand a moment, catching a glimpse of something on the monitor and led her to the sofa that Magnussen was sitting on, positioning himself between her and the man, placing the laptop down to his left, between HIM and the man. He nodded, seeing the full image on the monitor, "It _was_ you."

Leena sighed, shaking her head as she saw footage of her and John being pulled out of the bonfire by Sherlock playing on loop, "I hope I don't always look that bad when I'm being pulled out of a burning pile of wood," she remarked dryly.

"You were lovely as ever my dear," Magnussen grinned at her, making Sherlock stiffen, "Ooh, it was very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr. Holmes," he glanced at John as he took a few steps in to see what was on the monitor, "The drugs thing I never believed for a moment. Anyway, you wouldn't care if it was exposed, would you? But look how you care about your pretty wife, your damsel in distress."

"Hardly," Leena muttered at the same time as Sherlock did, the two of them sharing a subtle glance and smirk.

"And your friend, dear John Watson," Magnussen continued as though he hadn't heard them, and perhaps he hadn't.

"You…" John rounded on the man, "Put me and Jackie in a fire for leverage?!"

"Oh, I'd never let you burn, Dr. Watson," Magnussen waved him off, "I had people standing by," he stood, "I'm not a murderer unlike your wife," he stated, moving closer to the monitor, "Let me explain how leverage works, Dr. Watson," he slid a finger across the monitor, turning the telly off before he faced them, "For those who understand these things, Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well…apart from me. Mycroft's pressure point is his junkie, detective brother, Sherlock. And Sherlock's pressure point is his wife, Jacqueline Jerrard, and his best friend, John Watson. Well, Jacqueline's pressure point is her husband and the Watsons as well, but John Watson's pressure point is _his_ wife. I own John Watson's wife," he gestured from John to them, "I own Mycroft," he grinned and moved back to sit on his sofa once more, "He's what I'm getting for Christmas," he turned and held out his hand to Sherlock despite the laptop being right beside him.

Sherlock didn't bother to pick it up, merely shoved it over to him, "It's an exchange, not a gift," he corrected, standing, helping Leena up as well.

"Forgive me," Magnussen called, making Sherlock turn to face him as he clutched the laptop close, "But…I already seem to have it."

"It's password protected," Leena warned.

"In return for the password," Sherlock continued, "You will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman we know as Mary Watson."

"Oh, she's bad, that one. So many dead people," his gaze flickered to John, "You should see what I've seen."

"I don't _need_ to see it," John glared at him.

"You might enjoy it, though. _I_ enjoy it."

"You would," Leena countered, none of them truly shocked to find that out about the man.

"So why don't you show us?" Sherlock challenged.

"Show you Appledore?" Magnussen turned to him, before placing the laptop down on the sofa, "The secret vaults? Is that what you want?"

"I want everything you've got on Mary."

Magnussen laughed at that, shaking his head, "You know, I honestly expected something good."

"Oh, I think you'll find the contents of that laptop…"

"Include a GPS locator," he cut in, "By now, your brother will have noticed the theft, and security services will be converging on this house. Having arrived…" he glanced a the laptop in question, "They'll find top secret information in my hands and have every justification to search my vaults. They will discover further information of this kind and I'll be imprisoned. _You_ will be exonerated, and restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes with Mrs. Sociopath, and your friends, the Psychopaths," he glanced at John, "Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a long time," he turned back to Sherlock, "He'll be a very, _very_ proud big brother."

Leena frowned at that though, the way Magnussen was acting…he had something up his sleeve, he was stalling for a reason, he wanted something dragged out. And that was never a good thing, his smug persona…it was worrying her.

"The fact that you know it's going to happen isn't going to stop it," Sherlock countered.

"Then why am I smiling?" the man grinned, "Ask me."

"Why are you smiling?" John frowned.

"Because Sherlock Holmes and his dearest Leena," he smirked at how Sherlock's hands clenched into fists at the mention of him using Leena's nickname, "Have made one _enormous_ mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone they love and everything they hold dear," he stood up slowly, "Let me show you the Appledore vaults."

He turned and led them across the room to a set of glass doors. He opened them, allowing them through, across a study to a pair of wooden doors on the other end. He grinned as he put his hands on the handles, "The entrance to my vaults," he told them, "This is where I keep you all."

And with that, he threw open the doors…to reveal a small white room with a single black chair in it.

"Ok…" John blinked as Sherlock and Leena closed their eyes, the horrible realization hitting them, "So where are the vaults, then?"

And that was the horrible realization, wasn't it? There were no vaults, there were no archives or secret tunnels or anything.

"Vaults?" Magnussen tilted his head as he eyed John, "What vaults? There are no vaults beneath this building," he moved into the room and sat down in the chair to face them, gesturing at the room, "They're all in here. The Appledore vaults are my Mind Palace," he tapped his head, "You know about Mind Palaces, don't you, Sherlock?" he looked at the man who swallowed hard, his lips pursed, before glancing at Leena, "Oh but you don't need one, do you? You do as I do, store information so you never forget it, by picturing it. But Sherlock and I have a step up, for example..I just sit here, I close my eyes, and down I go to my vaults. I can go anywhere inside my vaults, my memories. I'll look at the files on Mrs. Watson."

Magnussen started grinning, lifting his hands and making motions like he was looking through an actual file. While the man's eyes were closed, Leena reached out and took Sherlock's hand, squeezing it so he'd look at her, 'It'll be ok Locksley,' she tried to reassure him.

But Sherlock just swallowed and shook his head, no…he rather doubted it would be. Because if Appledore was in Magnussen's mind…then there would be nothing for Mycroft's men to search. To all the world, with no exchange of information or bartering, it would look like he really HAD just handed over the information as a gift.

"Mmm," Magnussen hummed, "This is one of my favorites. Oh, it's so exciting. All those wet jobs for the CIA. Ooh! She's gone a bit freelance now. Bad girl. Ah, she is so wicked. I can really see why you like her," he pushed what appeared to be an imaginary draw closed and looked at Sherlock, "

"So there are no documents?" John cleared his throat, "You don't actually have anything here."

"Oh, sometimes I send out for something ," the man shook his head, "If I really need it, but mostly I just remember it all."

"I don't understand."

"You should have that on a t-shirt."

"You just remember it _all_?"

"It's all about knowledge. _Everything_ is. Knowing is owning."

"But if you just _know_ it, then you don't have proof," John countered.

"Proof?" the man laughed, "What would I need proof for? I'm in news, you moron. I don't have to prove it, I just have to print it," he stood up, "Speaking of news, you'll both be heavily featured tomorrow, trying to sell state secrets to me," he tsked, "Let's go outside. They'll be here shortly," he strode past them, heading down the halls, "Can't wait to see you arrested."

John let out a breath, watching him go, before looking at Sherlock and Leena, both who had gone a bit pale, Sherlock with his eyes closed, a look of the deepest regret on his face, "Do we have a plan?"

Leena swallowed, "We'll figure something out John," she nodded, squeezing Sherlock's hand again to pull him from his thoughts, "Trust us…we CAN figure out something," she looked at him meaningfully…

And they would, because NOW it mattered, it mattered so much more.

"Come on," she tugged Sherlock on, the three of them catching up with Magnussen as he reached a glass door that led to a patio. He threw the doors open and stepped outside with them, "They're taking their time, aren't they?" he grinned.

"I still don't understand," John remarked.

"And there's the _back_ of the T-shirt."

"You just _know_ things. How does _that_ work?"

Magnussen looked at him, catching sight of Sherlock and Leena stepping onto the patio as well, "I just _love_ your little soldier face. I'd like to punch it," John blinked, "Bring it over here a minute. Come on," he grinned as John looked to Sherlock and Leena, the two unable to help but give him the shortest of nods to do as he said, "For Mary," he cut in, pulling John's focus back, "Bring me your face…" he leaned in as John took a step or two closer to him, "Lean forward a bit and stick your face out," John did so, "Please?" he smirked, leaning in even more, "Now, can I flick it?"

John snorted, "What?"

"Can I flick your face?" Magnussen looked at him intently before John leaned in more and allowed him to flick his left cheek with the back of his middle finger, making him flinch and try to pull back. He flicked it again, "I just _love_ doing this. I could do it all day. It works like this, John. I know who Mary hurt and killed," he flicked John's cheek again, "I know where to find people who hate her," and again, and again, "I know where they live, I know their phone numbers…" and twice more, "All in my Mind Palace, _all_ of it. I could phone them right now and tear your whole life down and I _will_...unless you let me flick your face," he flicked John three more times as Sherlock and Leena stiffened behind him, growing angrier as they were forced to watch John be humiliated by the man, to be unable to do anything else with the threat that Magnussen had given him for Mary, "This is what I do to people. This is what I do to whole countries…" he flicked him again and stood, "Just because I _know_."

Magnussen tilted his head, looking at John, "Can I do your eye now?"

"Don't you dare," Leena spat.

Magnussen turned to her, "Don't I?" he smirked, before tilting his head the other way, "Ooh…you have spirit, like Lady Smallwood," he tsked, "That did not do her good, did it?"

Leena just stepped over to him, reaching out to tug John back, "You leave him alone. Not everyone can fall under your manipulations you know. There may be people out there with NO ONE that you can harm, no dirt you can dig up. What then?"

He merely laughed, "You speak of others, yes, but what of YOU."

"What about me?" she shook her head.

"Would you not let me flick your face if it meant protecting you handsome husband?" he inquired, reaching out to hold his hand before her face.

"Don't you dare," her eyes narrowed.

He just grinned and flicked her cheek, lifting his hand to do it again…when she grabbed his wrist, "I said don't."

"Ooh," he chuckled, amused, "You have a fight in you as well…"

"No," she shook her head, "Not really. Because, you see, there's just one thing. One rather important thing that you may have forgotten about me. One small piece of information you tucked away too deep in your Mind Palace."

"And what's that?"

"I'm not English, I'm French!" she shouted before pulling back her arm and punching him soundly in the nose, watching with narrowed eyes as Magnussen stumbled back, Sherlock watching proudly, "You know Sherwood's enemies, wonderful, you want to call them all up, I dare you to. I challenge you to, you call every single one of them up and you send them after us and we will deal with them as we have dealt with every other threat that we have faced…together," she moved to Sherlock's side, "You're not the first, you won't be the last. Not everyone will submit to you threatening the ones they love…some…some will rise to the challenge of defending them."

Sherlock could not keep the grin off his face if he tried…not that he wanted to. He…loved it when Leena got like that, when she got defensive and unpredictable, he loved how she could still surprise him even now, even having known her for decades. And he was so…proud of her, for doing what she did, not just because she had fought back, done what he had done and stood up to the monster of a man before them…but she had, at the same time, ensured their lives would never be dull, and also expressed her complete and utter faith in him, in THEM, to face down whatever came their way together and beat it.

"Sherlock Holmes, Jacqueline Holmes, and John Watson!" Mycroft's voice boomed out in the night's sky moments before the sound of a helicopter reached them, a spot light blaring to life and homing in on them as various men and women in black swat uniforms rushed the house, "Stand away from that man!"

Magnussen, despite having just been punched, despite his nose bleeding quite profusely, laughed, "Here we go, Mr. Holmes! This is the end for you and all those you care about! John, Mary, your pretty little wife…"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at that reminder, before he shouted above the sound of the helicopter, stepping away from Leena and towards John, making her frown, "To clarify…Appledore's vaults only exist in your mind, nowhere else, just there."

"They're not real," Magnussen agreed, looking at the helicopter, "They never _have_ been."

Leena's frown deepened as she saw the expression making its way onto Sherlock's face…a grim determination, the grimmest she'd ever seen, one that spoke of resignation and despair. She took a step towards him, eyeing him intently…just KNOWING he was about to go and do something stupid…

"Sherlock Holmes, Jacqueline Holmes, and John Watson!" Mycroft continued to shout, "Step away!"

Magnussen walked towards the helicopter a step or two, waving excitedly at it, "It's fine! They're harmless!"

"Sherlock," John looked at him, "What do we do?"

"Nothing!" Magnussen rounded on them, having heard him, "There's nothing to be done! Oh, I'm not a villain. I have no evil plan. I'm a businessman, acquiring assets. _You _happen to be one of them!"

Leena started to shake her head slightly, but not at Magnussen…at SHERLOCK, his expression was morphing again, intense, moving from John to her…regretful, begging forgiveness…and she knew…whatever he was about to do…he was going to leave her again.

"Sorry!" Magnussen shouted, "No chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr. Holmes."

Leena swallowed hard, seeing Sherlock look down at John, but…behind him, and her eyes widened a moment before narrowing, like hell she was going to let that happen again!

"Sherlock Holmes, Jacqueline Holmes, and John Watson, stand away from that man!" Mycroft repeated, "Do it _now_."

"Oh, do your research," Sherlock scoffed, moving around John, but behind him, grabbing something off him, unwilling to admit his hand was shaking as he did so. But this man...this man could destroy the lives of everyone in London, leaders of other countries, and...his _family_. He could destroy John and Mary and Mycroft and Leena and...he couldn't let that happen. He had left for 2 years to protect them, and he had sworn he always would keep them safe. The 2 years had hardened him to others, had softened him to THEM yes but...anyone who dared harm them or threaten them...he knew the lengths he'd go to see them protected...

Leena could see it as well in how his gaze flickered down once more, before he moved in front f him, heading for Magnussen…and she rushed to get to him in time…

"I'm not a hero," Sherlock glared, "I'm a high-functioning sociopath!" he pulled the gun he'd taken off of John and aimed it right at the man's heart, "_Merry Christmas!_"

And…just as he fired, he felt someone move beside him and grab his wrist, shoving the gun up, but purposefully not quickly enough to stop him, but to…redirect his shot…right to Magnussen's head.

Sherlock looked to the side, letting out a breath, staring with wide eyes at Leena as she watched the man's body fall to the ground, John flinching back from the sudden move…

"Leena…why…" he breathed to her, as she pulled the gun from his startled hands and tossed it to the ground.

There was a resounding click and his gaze snapped to his wrist that she was still holding, seeing she'd slipped their wedding handcuff onto his right wrist, clicking the other end to her left, "For better or for worse, Locksley," she murmured, the two of them ignoring the shouts of John behind them, the cries of Mycroft to stand fire, "I lost you once before…" she shook her head, "I am NOT doing that again."

Sherlock just stared at her, shaking his head at what she'd done. In redirecting his shot…she had made herself an accomplice, she would be viewed as having made the shot as well, they'd both be arrested for this, god knew if they'd even make it to a trial or what might happen afterwards. But…she'd done it to be with him…she was giving up…everything to stay with him.

She smiled, catching his expression, seeing his thoughts reflected in the smallest hint of a tear in his eye, "YOU are my everything," she whispered, moving her left hand to hold his right, the metal of the handcuffs clinking together before she turned to face the soldiers racing towards them.

Sherlock closed his eyes a moment, before squeezing her hand, the two of them moving to their knees and putting their hands on the back of their heads, together.

And, despite the situation, despite what they'd just done, despite what they knew was likely coming…the smallest of smiles was on their faces as their hands remained tightly clasped together…

~8~

Exile.

That was the decided fate of one Sherlock and Jacqueline Holmes. Oh they were quite sure that Mycroft had likely pulled some strings to get that instead of imprisonment or execution…not that there was much difference, for in their exile they were both to be deployed to Eastern Europe, to resume Sherlock's work. Sherlock had been…regretful, when Mycroft explained the negotiation to them. They wouldn't be charged, they wouldn't be arrested, their names wouldn't be tarnished…but England had to get rid of them…and the assignment abroad was the only option. Knowing what Mycroft believed of it, that Sherlock would have been dead in 6 months…there was a sense of unease about it, a fear that it would take shorter with Leena there, or just prolong the inevitable.

Leena had been rather adamant in her belief that it meant it would be indefinite, that they'd work out some way to survive past the 6 months and eventually be allowed back to England once more.

And so they were standing in the airfield as a black car drove up, John and Mary getting out, being offered this one last chance to say goodbye before Sherlock and Leena were to leave, their own plane was sitting behind them, Mycroft and one of the guards beside them.

"You _will_ look after him for me, won't you?" Sherlock joked to Mary about John as she approached them.

"Oh..." Mary smiled, reaching out to hug him, mindful of her belly, "Don't worry. I'll keep him in trouble."

"And don't forget to tell Mycroft when the baby arrives," Leena smiled, "I want names."

Mary laughed and nodded, hugging her too, trying not to cry for the situation, bloody hormones.

Leena took a breath and glanced at Mycroft, "Would you mind if we," she nodded at John, more indicating Sherlock and John as the man nodded, leading Mary and the guard off to the side.

"So, here we are," John remarked.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," Sherlock stated.

John blinked, "Sorry?"

"That's his entire legal name," Leena rolled her eyes, "He's offering suggestions since you seem so adamant about NOT naming it Hamish if it's a boy."

Neither of them knew why he was quite so adamant himself that, if it were a boy, it be called Hamish in the first place.

"No, we've had a scan," John reminded him, "Mary doesn't want to know but…I'm pretty sure it's a girl."

"Scans can be wrong," Leena warned.

"Chances are probably not though."

Sherlock shrugged, sighing a bit, "Ok," if it was a girl…well, that might be better, Liberty would have a best friend that he wouldn't have to worry about her trying to date his daughter when she was older like Hamish would…

He blinked, two things wrong with that though, the first was that he was completely indifferent to the sexual preference his daughter might have in the future, so long as she was…well, as long as she was happy because the Liberty he saw…she had Leena's smile and he'd give anything to see their daughter smile like that. And the second…Liberty was, at the moment a fictition of his mind, there was no saying she'd exist, or that she'd even be a girl…for all they knew, maybe THEY were the one having a Hamish.

He swallowed hard at that…ok, three things wrong with that…the third being…six months was not long enough to have a child. Leena wasn't pregnant and given how long a baby took and that was assuming that they managed to conceive fairly quickly…it didn't seem a viable future at the moment.

He was more disappointed about that than he was willing to admit.

"I…can't think of a single thing to say," John admitted.

"No," Sherlock nodded, "Neither can I."

"Nor me," Leena breathed.

"The game is over," John murmured.

"The game is never over, John," Sherlock shook his head, "But there may be some new players now. It's ok. The East Wind takes us all in the end."

"What's that?"

"It's a story Mycroft used to read to us…before he became an unbearable prat," Leena told him, "The East Wind was this…sort of force, this terrible, terrifying force that just…destroyed everything before it. It would seek out those unworthy and just…remove them."

"That was generally me," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Nice," John shook his head.

"And that was around the time he became an utter prat," Leena agreed.

"He was a rubbish big brother," Sherlock smiled a bit.

"So what about you, then?" John cleared his throat, looking at them, "Where are you two actually going now?"

"Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe," Sherlock shrugged.

"For how long?"

"Could be six months," Leena offered, "According to Mycroft."

"He's never wrong," Sherlock murmured.

"And then what?" John frowned.

Sherlock and Leena looked at each other, their solemn looks enough for John to realize what this 'mission' meant for them, "Who knows?" Sherlock shrugged, taking a breath as he squeezed Leena's hand and turned back to John, "John, there's something I should say. I…I've _meant_ to say always and then never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now," he took another breath, "Sherlock is actually a girl's name."

"It's not," John laughed.

"It could be," Leena nudged him, "Shirley, eh?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that, at the nickname his brother often used for him, but had to admit, "I think it could work."

They chuckled at that for a moment or two before sobering, Sherlock pulling off his glove and holding out a hand to John, "To the very best of times, John."

John took a breath and shook his hand back, firmly, the two of them silently saying goodbye.

"I wish you and Mary every happiness John," Leena stepped forward as they let go of their hands to hug him, not wanting to say goodbye, but not wanting to promise to see him later either.

"And you too," John held her tight a moment, "You look after him."

"Don't I always?" she joked, stepping back to Sherlock's side, linking her arm through his as they headed for the plane.

"Mary!" Sherlock called to the woman as John made his way over to her, "Hamish!"

Mary laughed as John groaned, "I'll talk him round," she winked, John shaking his head at that.

Sherlock and Leena held up a hand to wave to them before letting them drop, just…taking a moment to look at their friends and Mycroft before heading into the plane.

~8~

Sherlock was sitting in a seat beside the window of the small plane, Leena curled up beside him, her arms around his arm, leaning on him as he had his one arm around her shoulders, the two of them just…gazing out the window at the sky and the land below.

"Sir?" a voice called and they both looked over at one of the guards that had accompanied them, "It's your brother," he held up a phone.

"What does he want now?" Leena huffed as Sherlock took the phone.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock set it to speaker for Leena to hear.

"Hello, little brother," Mycroft greeted, "How is the exile going with the Missus?"

"The plane took off four minutes ago Mycroft," Leena rolled her eyes even though he couldn't see.

"Well, I certainly hope you've both learned your lesson," Mycroft remarked, "As it turns out, you're needed."

"Oh, for God's sake," Sherlock grumbled, "Make up your mind. Who needs us this time?"

"England. Check your phone Jacqueline," was all Mycroft said before ending the call.

Leena frowned and pulled out her phone, seeing a media message alert, and opened it, hers and Sherlock's eyes widening as they saw what looked like a picture of Moriarty with the jaw cut off and animated to move.

"Did you miss me?" the animation asked, its voice distorted.

Sherlock and Leena just looked at each other for a long moment, before a smile broke out on both their faces.

To be continued…in…Holmes Again!

A/N: Is it just me that glitches keep happening to? :'( I'm thinking I should go back to my old internet explorer. I've upgraded to chrome last week and then all this starts the week after -sigh- :( But I got it up! Earlier than yesterday though :)

:') I can't believe it's over! But I've heard that we might be getting Series 4 staring on Christmas THIS year ;) So that's awesome :) Which means, for the next series, I'm going to try and get this series updated and start posting it 1 week after the last episode airs ;)

I just want to say a quick thank you to you all :) To anyone who has read/reviewed/favorited/followed/anything this story, I really want to thank you :) It means so much to me that you're enjoying the story and OC so far and I just want to say that I love you guys ;)

Some notes on reviews...

Nope, Leena's not pregnant :) No idea what may/not happen in Series 4 though }:)

Not another teaser nope :) Just a respons to a review :) Lol, I don't think John would ever name his child that, but as it was in Sherlock's head and he finds the name so amusing, I could see him tacking it on to Baby Watson if it was a boy :) Actually, Liberty started as just the baby image and I had no plans to bring her back like that till I saw the episode ;) But I''m glad she got a reprise :)

I'm glad you're enjoying the story :) I definitely tried to keep Sherlock as in character as I could, I love the way he is too much to change him too drastically, perhaps a few minor changes here and there but only because of how long he's known Leena and how comfortable he is around her :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter :) I can't wait till the spinoff too so we really get to see how they reached that point. I've also got an AU coming sometime in the future where we'll see a 'what if' thing of Sherlock and Leena meeting for the first time ever in Study in Pink so that'll be interesting to build a relationship from that with no history ;)

Lol, we'll have to wait for a little Sherlock/Leena baby, but I can say that Sherlock might just be a bit more open to it ;)


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